I Have to Ask Why

This morning at table
as the kids scream for breakfast
and I ask for peace
my wife stirs the porridge
and claims, “There are days
God walks me to the edge
and at the last second
draws me back.
I have to ask why.”

At noon, as I suck
on a strawberry shake
in a diner near work
and ponder her question,
two lesbians in a booth
in back bicker and swear
about who'll pay
the air fare to Miami.
I have to ask why.

Donal Mahoney

Archived 10/17/2011