It is at the end that one feels things To feel is to fear is to Suffer the truth Of things That life, though has an end, Is long and lonely And that life, though beginning Has an ending Unknown That loss is pain and pain Is loss and loss will certain Come, as certain as the explosion Of senses but indeterminate It is when i leave that i treasure My belongings and family Leave where? Death is at the end But for tomorrow i leave for home Without my family It is dark in the car and the dim lights seem To float neon purple yellow They do not seem out of place in the blackness of night People still eat hardly seeing their food And the people they eat with My son is sleeping beside, his head on my thigh I feel his hair, tuck in his hands neat that it doesn’t Hang, arms together like a blanket We don’t sleep together at home And i don’t tuck him in this way I don’t hold him to sleep He sleeps alone some distance away On the sofa in the living room or above With his mother on her bed, along with his sister And baby brother, or sometimes in his room Carried in after he’s asleep Given a choice, would i have been here? Holding him asleep? Poverty of choices forces one to be kind Prevents one from being unkind Squeezes the kindness to the top Like scum does unstirred What would i have done at home? Face the computer In my own dry dream Living out the night partly Then sleeping the day partly A half ghost, half dream Half father, half husband Tomorrow i drive home Alone, to live out my days It is at the end that one feels things And all we do is only a means To not feel Things
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