Grandpap loves his Cadillac. He always has and always will. He worked on it day and night. “Gene, are you coming?” asked his wife waiting in the doorway in her nightgown. The usual answer, “No.” Blinded by chrome and oil, steel and varnish, he missed when her cough got worse. The diagnosis came, bearing a loud prophecy: LUNG CANCER. Of course, he couldn’t cope. He started drowning his sorrow in the underbelly of a machine. She felt alone, and as did he, but he refused to fill his loneliness with the love of his wife. He said it couldn’t help. But by then it was too late. Once again, he plunged into the engine, hoping it would fill what was missing. Eventually, it was done. With nothing more to fix, how would he fix himself?
tags: poetry, verse viernes, cadillac, sad stories, thing a day, 1 to 200
|Day #13||Day #15|