she's about the same age,
been through lotsa storms and sunny days with him,
she's got a few wrinkles and a little bit of sag.
oh, what a couple they are.
and their two boys, they're doin' alright
both doing fine in school -- occasionally getting into fights
and once in a while getting an A or an F,
but all in all, pretty decent little guys.
but in their salad days, the days where all was green
(y'know, before the kids)
they sampled greatly from the garden of life
eating fruit from all sorts of trees.
and it turned out that one of the apples he ate was poisoned.
and he passed the poison on to her.
didn't mean too, and he didn't even know.
and it happened so long ago, so long ago, he doesn't even remember the name.
so, he sits his wife down early in the morning,
in the cold, grey kitchen at the faded white table,
before the boys and the sun get up to face the day.
the chairs creak as if to say,
"why ARE we getting up so early this morning?"
he saw the doctor a couple of weeks ago.
about a persistent cough and a little swelling.
figured he got it from a customer at the convenience store.
the people who come in at night have all SORTS of things wrong with them...
he tells her that the doc said though it wasn't just a cold
or even a touch of the flu, but it was something worse.
she asks what it was, with the voice of tired concern,
the voice of someone who's heard all the slightly sad stories of his life.
he tells her, "dear, i really think you should see the doctor".
her eyes light up a little and a tinge of horror comes to her face.
he tells her the diagnosis and prognosis about the
psychosis they will be going through.
if he takes care of himself, he'll live for a few,
maybe quite a few more years.
and they've been pretty careful since then, so
maybe she didn't get the poison.
she starts to cry a little.
not loudly, so as not to wake up the boys,
but quietly, and she nervously gets
up to wash the coffee cup he'd been drinking from.
the sunrise is beautiful, because all sunrises are beautiful
when it's partly cloudy and the sun can paint the clouds in calliope colors,
and the birds sing their many beautiful songs.
but they only see gray today and only hear dirges.