My Dottie

We met in French class in college and we had coffee
after class. At first she was going with the all-American boy,
but when a period she missed he did rapidly flee.
I moved then to take her hand and heart. It was no ploy.

I had fallen for this possible mother to be completely.
On Christmas Eve she gave me her hand and consent.
The next day to Yuma from L.A. we went discretely,
but when my car broke down, my parent's aid was heaven sent.

We spent our wedding night in my child-hood bed
and feared being heard, but consummated our love.
Back to L. A. the next day; a third story single with a Murphy bed.
The legs broke and we fell, with laughter and love.

Our daughter was born with long labor and pain,
but this little girl was wanted and loved by us both.
By the time she was three, we had moved in rain
to an apartment in La Mesa further south.

It was here Dottie contracted bulbar polio.
It was misdiagnosed as the flu
and though I continued to work, the CB radio
informed me what I had quickly to do.

We raced to the hospital, Dottie vomiting blood.
Her temperature reached 112 and the doctor said,
"If she lives she'll be a vegetable." There I stood,
my world imploding, knowing soon she'd be dead.

At midnight she called me to scratch her nose
and plainly said, "Don't let your mother raise
our daughter. Keep her with you. As I close
this chapter of life, I give Jesus praise."

I rushed to the doctor and told him what she said.
"It often happens when one is near dying,
God allows the soul to come through. She's still dead.
When at four a. m. I heard her death rattle, I was crying.

I had to wait 'till the coroner signed the death certificate.
Though I kissed her cold lips I knew she was not there.
She was gone. Finally, in a state numb I left the hospital at eight.
I don't remember driving, but, I did in time get there.

Carol, our daughter, three and a half was at the screen door.
Smiling at me, she asked, "Daddy, when's Mommy coming home?"
I couldn't answer, "When's Mommy coming?, she did implore.
I had to explain Mommy was dead. Telling her formed no poem.

When I returned, my Supervisor, a truly compassionate guy,
took me for coffee and relieved me from my work,
'cause he thought I could no longer collect debts, with a tear in his eye
explained it was better for me not to have to be hard, the jerk.

I moved back to L.A. and kept Carol with me. I also found work.
I believe the Lord was with me guiding my way,
and though I've had further marriages, perhaps being a jerk
I knew He was with me and is still now, every day!