A Father’s Reverie

I have been sentenced to tumblers
of iced tea in an old lawn chair
for the summers that remain
in my life. But I don’t complain.
I go to bed and I lie there

for hours like a mummy.
I stare at the ceiling and finger a curl
in my sleeping wife’s hair.
How many hours do I slaughter

each evening, asking no one
why I quit drinking
the day I got married,
why I got married
the day I quit drinking.

by Donal Mahoney

Email: donalmahoney@charter.net