“A cut and polish of this old bod I’d welcome this breezy sleep easy night”he thought.
The old man was in the mood for writing a love song.
It was the kind of night to sift the stars above and remember.
But what he really wanted was for someone to write him a love song.

“Wirte me a olve sogn " he shouted to universe.
The echo of his jumbled words slapped back in his face.
The universe couldn’t possibly be laughing with him. No the universe he knew hadn’t one inkling what a sense of humor was but was expert in irony.
Irony was not happy chatter to the old man.
That broken blood vessel in his brain had made irony the third strike your nearly out.

The universe had taken and taken again from him without a small chuckle or a “it’s not really happening mate ….just joking with ya.”
Alice had died giving him his son, a son who grew up to be bastard thief stealing from his own pa.

A son who wrapped his body up in metal and wheels around a tree the size of a tug boat fleeing from the arms of the law.
The old man’s arms couldn’t protect a son who was born fidgety for a death wish.
His boy was too many pounds over the scale of hard to love.
A dead weight of heartache.

“Wirte me a fuckn olve song!” he shouted again. The old man’s intention was aimed but still his heart miscued his voice.
The night was filling with the silence of unwritten notes when a surprise of music took that silence by its ears.
Somewhere out there someone had turned up some music probably to dance to as one should on such a summer night.

It was Alice’s favorite song that crooned it’s way to an old man who’d loved an Alice who once upon a time was only as far away as the length of his loving arms.
Bless her, Alice was always a marvel at unraveling cross words.

Dawn settled up the score to the music of daylight.
And an old man found his final sleep in the arms of his Alice.

© K S Hardy 2011