Wendy Freborg

Minecraft and Pulmonary Fibrosis

Minecraft, for those who don’t know,
has a time cut off.
As in life,
you must do what you can do,
before your day is done.

My grandson played Minecraft in the evening.
Bedtime approached,
as did screen time’s parental limit.
“I’ll lose all my tools!” he cried.
The grandparents could be lenient;
the software could not.

“Call Dad and ask him to extend my time,” he begged,
but Dad was in a theater with a silenced phone.
The plea we sent went nowhere.

I want extra time too.
My husband’s lungs are crumbling
but my plea for a time extension goes
to a silent phone
in a theater
where a new and younger cast has already taken the stage.

My grandson throws himself on the floor and wails
for all to hear.
I throw myself on the bed and sob quietly,
so no one else will know.

 

Wendy Freborg has been writing poetry since 1964. Places where it has been published include Misfit, Rat’s Ass Review, Right Hand Pointing, The Orchards Poetry Journal, WestWard Quarterly and a number of now-defunct journals. Her humor appears in Scalar Comet and Little Old Lady Comedy.  Her life includes a small family, enough friends, way too many doctors and not enough dogs.