Your Turn is Coming

If this turns off anyone,  
I didn't write it for that reason,  
that's just the way it was.  
 
              <><><><>  
 
The urn holding your ashes  
in the closet with a few of your  
favorite things.  
Actually it isn't an urn,  
never could see the reason for one,  
you're still in what I received you in.  
 
People will talk.  
He didn't buy an urn.  
He didn't think enough of her  
to even buy a . . .  
 
Let them talk, squawk, shriek,  
I just don't care.  
Somehow you not being in a urn  
symbolizes who you were.  
A woman from Mississippi  
who carried a lot of hate,  
kept from me a lot of secrets.  
 
When I found them out  
I couldn't understand how you could  
live with me all those years  
and not tell me what was  
closet to your heart.  
Especially when I was blubbering  
ALL OF MY SECRETS TO YOU!  
 
We did finally get one thing  
straight between us.  
You didn't love me.  
Neither did I love you.  
Still, we both needed one another.  
Not complicated.  
We admitted that also as we sat at the dinette.  
For some reason our confessions  
made life a little easier  
for both of us.  
 
If you were here, if you could come back,  
we'd have a lot to talk about. Or,  
if you'd like we could check out a  
nearby lounge. I remember how  
you liked your blended whiskey and  
water. Whatever you'd like we'd do.  
 
Are you aware?  
Can you tell what is happening here  
with me? I don't believe in Heaven,  
but you always said you did.  
If there is a Heaven,  
and even though you said you believed,  
I somehow doubt you are there,  
being the dishonest person you were,  
among other things. Do you remember  
telling me, "Your turn's coming?" You  
hated that you aged worse than I did.  
 
I vividly remember the night you died.  
Your daughter was there.  
So was one of your nieces.  
The pretty one.  
You know who I'm talking about.  
You'll never believe what she did to me  
the night you died.  
 
©March 26, 2017 / Jerry Pat Bolton