I must have felt okay when I wrote this. It's a very okay poem. It's got political undertones, but under a sweet voice, like a Peter, Paul and Mary song.

~

Morning Breath (There Was a Day)

_{The Singing Butler by Jack Vettriano. My friend Maddie introduced me to him a year ago today, and I've loved his work! Some of it gets pretty spicy though...}

there was a day where
it wasn't too hot, but it wasn't too
cold either.
no one died and no one was born.
smiles graced the faces of curmudgeons and
frowns were held firm by jesters.
they all ate dinner when it was
fresh from the stove. fast food restaurants
closed because the economy allowed fathers
time to go home and cook for their spouses with
marinades and spices. they cracked books when
their families were apart and they
placed their thumbs between the pages when children
needed hugs or
playmates or
their handiwork seen. a painting,
a turkey or a
hand or an
abstract impressionist piece where their
peace was evident.
(those were rare and exceptional cases though.)

there was a night to compliment that day too.
it wasn't dark too soon, but
the light humbly bowed out when it was time to depart.
the children slept without dreams of tomorrows, their
youthful faces untouched by the bullets of the hateful. their
youthful bodies unmarked by the hand of
discipline or anger or angry discipline. a
fine line of gray stood out against fathers'
dark, short cut hair, and it was okay.
mothers gained ten pounds and
showed them off to their spouses, like
instead of self conscious,
instead of shamed for the night's dinner weight,
they loved each other fiercely, with
closed eyes,
loose mouths,
with quiet prayers or meditations; moments as solid as the pillows
under their heads and the
morning breath to come.