(Hence, I Keep Writing The Whiplash Sonnets)
My step-father, Rick, unexpectedly died a week ago.
I didn’t go to the funeral, which was Monday, in Arkansas,
of course. There are so many reasons for this not going,
some I’d rather not list here now, but mainly I cannot afford
to. So, same as usual, the successful smarty-pants now can’t
even be at the funeral of his mother’s husband, so I make it about
me, about my insecurities. Sure, things are tough for me, too,
at the moment, with too many things I have to take care of here in
San Francisco. But now I worry about what’s going to happen with
Mom now that Rick is gone; Mom, who’s been ailing for decades,
cannot get around on her own, and Rick worked full time plus, so
that the bills were payed and he could help her around. Mom has
relatives who help, which gives comfort but does not rid the guilt.
A sonnet can’t tell this story well or at length so I keep them going.
