Thrones

Each King Wore one

a throne

One in Cape Cod. next to

a column

facing out

towards the patio. It’s Pappy’s chair. I hear

him now. Get out

of the way

a tall stool

in East Stroudsburg

tall enough for a gaunt giant

where he held cranberry juice

Shuffle meant run,

that occupying the space

his space

not yours

was forbidden

sometimes, she pretended it

was like a game –

Pappy’s chair – He’s

coming . gotta run!

She was overcome by another

man with a Chair

by the tv

this one an armchair,

brown leather, and large enough

to contain his heaving bulk

from which,

He barked orders

her eyes were a terrified

mouse

A family meeting was called,

a false trial, in which

a fat man reeking of shit

put us all

each

in our place

“Isn’t it nice,” she’d say

with pleading eyes:       Don’t    call this out

It has to be well            you,

of all people,

 mustn’t end

this game

Maybe there was no truth

Maybe

we would all die in the fallout

Maybe, escape was       never

what she wanted

after all

I leapt from a car to save our Lives   and

she never once

thanked me.

Later on, of the things that were

revealed . . .

that

vodka is

the natural companion

to cranberry juice

that she

had already

begun

to pack

In Secret.

after years                    I found              her distress calls

engraved

on the back sides

of long-expired coupons.

And if you were to ask, I would say

This is why my voice

must be loud enough

for both of us .