If I can grow two hands that can reach the glass jar
Where my delightful provisions he keeps;
I shall stretch their full length and end my tribulation
Of rumbling stomach aches.
Just this morning he was rushing, he said he was late
And he picked up the coins not the keys;
I have a clear premonition he will curse his condition
Once he knew that again he’s remiss.
It is late, and I’m waiting alone, to be fed
But I know I shall wait a little more;
For though I have heard his beat-up Volkswagen
Arrive, oh my! He can’t open the door!
If I grew five fingers along with each hand,
I shall reach for the knob to make him happy;
But until then I shall wait till he finds a clever way
To enter and end our agony.
“Spotty,” Benny says and I say, “I’m hungry!”
But to him it sounded like, “Meow!”
“I’m here,” cries Benny, which to me was like, “Help me!”
How I wish I had the ___ to know how.
I was dreading the next step that he usually took,
For certainly this ain’t the first time
I shall wait at the terrace, wish him luck with arthritis
As he laboriously executes the climb.
(c) Ruth Mostrales