Love you, Timmy.
An Old Man Speaks
You haven’t found me frothing on the floor
and bleeding from the tongue for a long time.
You are my weekly visitor. The door
creaks open, and a corpse dusted with lime
revives to smile. Danny, had I been straight,
I might be you, smothered in happiness,
children swarming my knees. But I’ve a fate,
Dom in the Anglo Saxon, and I’d guess
the All Father has placed me on this path
diverging in a leafless wood, to find
some way to charity, away from wrath.
My eyes are bandaged, so I’m choosing blind
between two destinations: Heaven, Hell.
Visit me here, and try to love me well.
—Timothy Murphy
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