Morgan Michaels


From 'ephron' 11 - Poem by Morgan Michaels

It was a week before I talked to Ephron. In fact, I sort of forgot him. Still, he simmered on my mind's back-burner, not completely gone. I can never forget the needs of others. It's perhaps my most unfortunate character trait. I made my mind up to call- but he beat me to it. Monday morning, the telephone rang. It was Ephron. At first, we made small talk. 'How did he feel'? 'Fine, just a little weak'. 'What was it like to be home'? 'Interesting'. He felt spaced out. 'The place seems bigger, somehow'. 'Was he taking his meds'? 'Yes, they were awfully expensive. One made him dizzy, so he stopped taking it and felt better. 'What was next for him'?

'Well', he explained, with a sigh, 'I have an appointment with my doctor, Thursday'.

He sounded a little resigned but he brightened.

'By the way, you'll never guess what happened'.

'What's that'?

'Bellam called. My son. Out of the blue. Isn't that weird'?

'Ah, yes and no', I hedged.

I was proud of Bellam, who I'd talked to but never met.

'That's wonderful. What did he say'?

'He says he's been thinking of me. He's coming for a visit'.

'Amazing'.

'Did you tell him you were in the hospital'?

'Sure. I gave him a play by play account. Poor guy- his girlfriend's been in the hospital, very sick. Funny how it happens.
Something to do with her eyebrows. He says it was touch and go, at first, but she's home, now. Isn't modern medicine grand'?

'It is. When's he coming'?
'Day after tomorrow. Apparently, he found a cheap flight. I said he shouldn't, that the doctor said it's nothing, but he insisted. 'Said it's been 'way too long. I guess he's right'. Then, Ephron growled: 'He want's to discuss assisted living or something. Let him try'.

I felt encouraged, not knowing what else to feel. Then, I had an idea.

'Why not take him along to the doctor's on Thursday. If he's agreeable, that is- '.

'Not a bad thought. I'll ask him'.

Our chat was winding down.

'Ok, Ephron. Hey, you sound good, man. Rest up, now, hear'?

'You bet. Call you next week. And, by the way....thanks'.

I was glad for him and began to think, indeed, some good deeds may escape punishment.

Topic(s) of this poem: love


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, January 10, 2016

Poem Edited: Monday, January 11, 2016


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