The day after he died,
the house looked the same.
He might just have
driven into town
on an errand, or to a gig.
Travels with Charley
lay on the side table,
a page turned down
real close to the end;
his guitars hung,
the strings barely
cooled from his fingers;
his coffee mug with dregs
still in it rested beside the sink,
the butt of his last Marlboro
in the cheap yellow ashtray,
and Buddy, his black Lab,
at once an affront and a comfort,
had the audacity to be happy.
Mary Ellen Shaughan is a native Iowan who now lives in Western Massachusetts. Her poetry has appeared in Peregrine, Foliate Oak, Long Story Short, Iowa Writes, A&U: America’s AIDS Magazine, Aleola, and 2River View.
A Quiet Courage 