Nothing but a soppy song
to Fanis, a poem promised years ago
In the dentist chair
no new ideas are perching on my eyebrows,
When I was nine
a crimson wristwatch was given to me
by my father
who died one morning at nine o’clock
I suddenly recall.
Fanis has no anesthetic
for what goes on in his patients’ soul.
His cell phone rings,
its ringtone is Luis Armstrong’s
“It’s a wonderful world”
And then it dawns on me,
this may never have been his favorite tune,
but a reminder
for him, perhaps for all,
a declaration with best intentions
and colossal expectations destined to echo
in my opinion
as nothing but a soppy song.