There’s a pear tree in the corner that he planted in the Spring of ’63
His younger child turned 2 that day now each pear tastes of a memory
The yellow roses are dropping petals as they have for 25 years or so
The old fence leans so little; good post-holes that he dug so long ago
He drinks a cup of coffee sitting by himself at the kitchen table
No matter how he sweetens it the coffee always tastes of regret
The garden looks neglected though he weeds it whenever he is able
But lately he is feeling the kind of tired for which there is no rest
It used to be that whiskey was enough to make him feel alright
It was whiskey eased the wailing of the wartime ghost of the weary night
But the years of barroom sloppy and bedroom reckless finally took their toll
On the wife who once so loved him that her leaving left a desert in his soul
Along the shady street there are just a couple lonely flags a flying
It’s been a windy Spring but today they are hanging sad and limp
The rattle of a lawnmower and the chatter of some children break the silence
He’d like to have a cigarette but instead he takes the pills prescribed for him
It used to be that whiskey was enough to make him feel alright
It was whiskey eased the wailing of the wartime ghost of the weary night
But the years of barroom sloppy and bedroom reckless finally took their toll
On the wife who once so loved him that her leaving left a desert in his soul
In the kitchen drawer there’s a little box full of ribbons and brassy things
Some costume jewelry, war mementos but he still wears his wedding ring
His fingers are all swollen as he fumbles through the remnants of a time
When the things that he believed in were the medals and the ribbons in his mind
It used to be that whiskey was enough to make him feel alright
It was whiskey eased the wailing of the wartime ghost of the weary night
But the years of barroom sloppy and bedroom reckless finally took their toll
On the wife who once so loved him that her leaving left a desert in his soul
His younger child turned 2 that day now each pear tastes of a memory
The yellow roses are dropping petals as they have for 25 years or so
The old fence leans so little; good post-holes that he dug so long ago
He drinks a cup of coffee sitting by himself at the kitchen table
No matter how he sweetens it the coffee always tastes of regret
The garden looks neglected though he weeds it whenever he is able
But lately he is feeling the kind of tired for which there is no rest
It used to be that whiskey was enough to make him feel alright
It was whiskey eased the wailing of the wartime ghost of the weary night
But the years of barroom sloppy and bedroom reckless finally took their toll
On the wife who once so loved him that her leaving left a desert in his soul
Along the shady street there are just a couple lonely flags a flying
It’s been a windy Spring but today they are hanging sad and limp
The rattle of a lawnmower and the chatter of some children break the silence
He’d like to have a cigarette but instead he takes the pills prescribed for him
It used to be that whiskey was enough to make him feel alright
It was whiskey eased the wailing of the wartime ghost of the weary night
But the years of barroom sloppy and bedroom reckless finally took their toll
On the wife who once so loved him that her leaving left a desert in his soul
In the kitchen drawer there’s a little box full of ribbons and brassy things
Some costume jewelry, war mementos but he still wears his wedding ring
His fingers are all swollen as he fumbles through the remnants of a time
When the things that he believed in were the medals and the ribbons in his mind
It used to be that whiskey was enough to make him feel alright
It was whiskey eased the wailing of the wartime ghost of the weary night
But the years of barroom sloppy and bedroom reckless finally took their toll
On the wife who once so loved him that her leaving left a desert in his soul
Contributed by Kathy Kostelec - 2020/6/8 - 00:04
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(c) 2004 W. A. Kostelec
Railroad Boy