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A. F. (check my dental records)

Tigger and Pooh, would make a great
start, but this is about
Anatanas Frederich, the poet master. Who
entered into a love affair
love with an
octopus and an
aardvark just to see what
half-ass media remarks would come of it.
Friendly were the creatures, especially if he gave them
apples, or petted them
over the eyes. But this is about
how Antanas Frederich writes with
terror in his eyes,
the terror of losing his wife, after they were
together for 20+ years. The
chemistry never fading, though she was
loquacious to the extreme, she was an
ample
fuck.
Time and time again, he sees the
world through her eyes – in 8-bit color like an ancient
Nintendo.
When he writes, he still does it for her
as he did when they first met, and he took her
home that night,
helped her get undressed, and it
began.
Seeing her
that night, he couldn’t resist the
temptations. And the next day he said he was
sorry, but she didn’t buy it and just
over a month later, they were married
permanently.
He wrote her a love poem on
their special day,
on love,
on life,
forever together it read.
Then she got cancer,
the doctors said no more beef, so she bought
Tofu, and he ate it with her.
Twenty years, 7 remissions, and 3 kids later she died.
Missed now by her family, but still
married in heart and
mind to her
own great
poet, who has to write to stay alive.
On he writes
attempting to complete
his greatest work. And
when he dies
because he knows he will,
under his name on his
tomb, they will write – “A Poet to his
Final Day.”
Only then will he be
free to
once again be with his wife.
And the great and wonderful poet
extraordinaire will not have to
bring his ‘A’ game to the
table, instead
allowing others to
bring theirs.
Still,
as the greatest living poet,
he feels that he must
save his best for the end.
Hoping that it comes sooner rather than later, that
heaven has nice typewriters and
nicer editors.
And wishing that his children would get
over the rejection feeling of a poet father, who
never wanted them to feel unwanted,
only he didn’t know how to
accomplish such a feat, instead
having their mother around for
love and support for all sides of
this dysfunctional family. But then she died
and the kids haven’t been home,
so he instead writes his final piece, vowing to
never again put pen to paper.