For Pete's Sake

He pedaled up

rapped loudly on my hermit cell door

interrupting a frantic turn to chalk and key boards

facing a Sunday morning deadline—well into Saturday evening.

I turned him away

angry for the interruption

I didn’t even know he’d returned,

for Pete’s sake!

He’d gone to Africa to save his marriage—

          returned with a new ring, tied to a woman he barely knew

Nature

Nature he loved, fought so hard for, robbing him of volition

                    Stealing words, memory, function

Frontotemporal dementia

          Devil incarnate

                   for Pete’s sake.

Still, he played me for the fool—more times than I’ll tell you

just wanted to listen to “this Irish band”

                    stepped uninvited on stage

                    hoisted the bodhrán

                    played,

played as if life depended on it

                    because it does

                             for Pete’s sake.

 Weeks we ate fish and chips

          until I couldn’t eat them any more

          watched sports—

                   cheering Aby Wambaugh on

          he played, I listened

                   I danced

                             for Pete’s sake.

He was taken North

          I moved farther still

                   cell door bust open

                   dancing shoes at the ready

                    “bursting Joy’s grape”

                              for Pete’s sake.

Renée Zenaida, 1/3/16