Surprise, Surprise

The mother's dead. 

Thirty years later 

you meet the daughter 

and realize the daughter 

is the mother again, 

poking her finger 

in your chest half an hour

after her plane lands. 

The same laugh knocks

folks in the elevator 

back a bit.

Every time the daughter 

grabs your arm 

to emphasize a point

the way the mother did,

you want a ticket

to the Maldives

or maybe Bulgaria.

Sofia in the summer

might be nice.

This time, however,

you stay put.

She found you

on the Internet.

You must admit

the freckles 

across her nose 

scream she's right: 

You are her father. 

Surprise, Surprise.

Her mother never said.

Donal Mahoney

That Valentine's Day in Manhattan

You're standing on a window ledge

on the 50th floor of your building.

It's Valentine's Day in Manhattan, 

clouds cruising, sun everywhere, 

a nice breeze tossing your hair,

the taste of that woman always there.

Do you wonder what happens after 

you jump or do you simply not care?

Does God meet you half way down

and say "What a foolish thing to do." 

Or does Satan appear and shout

"Here's the Magnus Doofus of my day."

Do you begin to wonder when 

you're a foot above the asphalt 

whether you'll hear the splat or 

do you jump and simply not care?

Donal Mahoney

The Human Condition

Did I forgive her, you ask?

What a silly question.

Why wouldn't I forgive her?

The mother of my children,

she's been dead for years.

Our long war died with her.

Did I attend her funeral?

I'd have been a distraction.

But I pray for her, 

the repose of her soul.

She belongs in Heaven,

no denying that, up front

in a box seat after all 

she's been through.

If I'm lucky, I'll find 

the side door to 

Heaven unlocked.

I'll sneak in quietly

and if Peter doesn't  

throw me out, I'll sit

in the bleachers.

The question is, 

will I wave if she 

turns around?

Donal Mahoney