April 7, 2013 (I was 68)
Read us a story we’d say
and of course we meant one each
Comic books before bed
and she would
The three of us
atop the double bed she’d read
Little Lulu, Uncle Scrooge, Daffy Duck
Maybe Superman or Batman
Real super heroes were my solitary literature
Blackhawk
an international team of ethnic Caucasian
stereotypes
Andre, Olaf, Stanislaus, Hendrickson, Chuck,
Blackhawk
and the non-uniformed almost mascot Chop-Chop
who carried a cleaver for a weapon
Later often amused by Archie
I would prefer Betty to snobby Veronica
and Jughead saved us all from being jugheads
We grew out of her reading and the comics
But the peaceful choice to be engaged
in little communal stories never left me
How foolish would it be
to read them to her now, share again
small predictabilities and satisfactory
conclusions
A good start for tomorrow before we ended today
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