Tragedy

This is the car they drove in the mornings,
when the kids had to be dropped off at school
and he went to work in a starched shirt and suit.
It smelled like coffee and peanuts,
and once the acrid sting of gastric juices
where his daughter threw up and they had to wait ages
to clean the mess off of her corduroys.

This is the fridge where his daughter taped her art,
and where they kept the vegetables she drew faces on
until they dried out because nobody had the heart to cut them up.
His wife always made sure that it was always filled
even when she was working too late to make dinner.

And this is the bridge he walked along
when he found out why his boss had fired him,
and this is the hat flung over the edge,
when he realized why he couldn't jump.

This is the car they used after they sold the old one,
when his son had to be dropped off early for detention,
and his wife started going to church after her mother died.
And it smelled like her terrible sadness,
and the perfume his daughter wore to impress a boy.

This is the fridge that stayed empty
when his wife stopped eating and never let him touch her.
This is the window his daughter used to run away,
and this is the bathtub where he found his son
who thought that he was taking a shortcut.

And this is the bridge he ran along when he had lost everything,
where he tried as hard as he could to jump.
And the emptiness he flung off the bridge was replaced
by sunburn because he stood there too long.

And this is the road where he walked through his memories
until his shoes gave out, and his face was wrinkled
from all the tears he never showed his family.
This is where he finally lay down and slept in Death's embrace,
so as to make the tragedy romantic
because she was his only faithful lover.