In lonely moments it may come to mind
To brush away the cobweb’s veil and look
For sterling pedigrees, but all one finds
Is the watch captain’s faded ledger book.

A nineteen time’s too big a thing to waste;
A beer at Cushie’s, maybe two; cigars,
Then set the bowling pins again, no haste,
A long walk home beneath the summer stars.

A simple case of drowning was overturned
To explain the death of Patrick Donohue.
The doctor looked a little closer, learned
The neck was broken and an ear was chewed.

A hundred years have past since Pat was slain,
But death still stalks high times. This will not change.


Robert Donohue studied writing with Lewis Turco at S.U.N.Y. Oswego and currently works as a janitor.

First published in Measure, Volume 2 (2007)