The Dream Life
Last night, she dreamed that she could
walk to the bathroom without stumbling,
without the laughter of millions ringing in her ears.
And there was her husband,
not squashed and splattered
in the wreckage of the Buick
but bounding through the front door,
all smiles and kisses.
And her eldest son was kissing her hand
like she were a queen
and the youngest, the plumber’s apprentice,
seeing to the leaking tap.
There was no such thing as a degenerative disease
or a car hydroplaning on a highway
or one boy in uniform and overseas
and the other marrying that woman.
But this morning, she woke
to where she was the same time yesterday.
Can’t even build a new life,
not when the nurse comes twice a day,
and you can’t get to the hairdresser,
wallow in a perm.
Thank God for television
and the remote control.
So many channels,
she doesn’t have to settle on a one.
King Kong takes Viagra
only 9.99 if you call
CSI Miami now.
She wonders why that can’t be the dream.