Читать книгу Mercy Wears a Red Dress - David Craig - Страница 12

a cigarette grey. But that doesn’t

seem to slow him down. He’s tended

his machine shop for forty years, providing,

arrives at every family get-together

without flags or roses. Nothing, except him,

is ever about that.

I don’t know how he does it,

want to be like him; but it is too late.

I have a different job and a family

that wouldn’t fit into his house.

They would require different curtains,

confections, their own puppy.

So while it’s true we all usually do the best

we can; his is clearly better than mine.

He’s not the only one like that, of course.

There are far too many of those good types

around this Catholic University, (so many

holy people, you can’t count them)

sandals I can’t loose.

Thankfully, they don’t ask,

or wear them, except in the summer,

like that Orthodox Jew Linda and I met

walking through downtown Pittsburgh

one summer eve. He thought I was

of his tribe, was collecting funds

for something holy. I had

no money, but wanted to bend down

and kiss his feet—didn’t.

Some wimpery lasts forever.

Pat would understand that:

he’s been in the navy—

he has this reel-to-reel with all

the golden oldies on it: “Last Kiss,”

by J. Frank Wilson, “Tammy’s in Love.”

Somebody like that would never lie to you.