Funeral for the Last Parent

By Donal Mahoney

They were never one
always two
yet they had five,
adults themselves now,
bowling pins today
upright in the front pew,
wondering still
after all these years
why the two
were never one.

It’s not a story
the two would tell
even if they could.
They were galaxies apart.
They had no answer
yet they still had five,
adults themselves now
who can celebrate
they’re here at all,
bowling pins today
upright in the front pew.

No need to wonder why
the two who loved them
were never one.
It’s not a story
the two would tell
even if they could.
They’re galaxies away.

Donal Mahoney, a product of Chicago, says he lives in exile now in St. Louis. He has had poetry, fiction and nonfiction published in print and online in various countries. He has worked most of his life as an editor of one thing or another.

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