Noose Like a Necklace (poem)

Noose like a Necklace

He laid out the noose like a necklace;
it sat on the table as a gift.
He cut the rope from an old tire swing;
Neil valued himself a man of thrift.
After all, the child who played with it
long ago had died,
and so it, too, was true of Neil —
but his demise came on the inside.
Still he kept his weary flesh, a silly heart
that continued in its beating,
and a mind a flood of torment —
that day vivid and repeating.

Now, evocative once more is the morning
he learned of a son-to-be,
the thrill afterward of fastening that rope
to a branch high up in the tree.
Never was a father more excited
to have a baby on the way,
and he spoiled his expectant wife
on every step to delivery day.
And after the birth, Neil held her sweetly
and dreamed aloud of a life untold,
and around her lovely throat he draped
a necklace of silver and gold.

She never wears that necklace now
though others take its place.
She still dresses in silk to go to town;
there's always makeup on her face.
On her way, she'd pass that old tire swing
and never did he see her cry.
And he'd ask her if she missed Joey,
and not once did she reply.
How can a woman smile at the market
when her only child is gone?
When it was her remissness that doomed him,
how does she dare to live on?

Neil picks up the rope and envisions the day,
as his mind won't let him rest.
What he didn't witness with his own eyes,
the police reports do attest:
It was a sunny Friday afternoon
in the first full month of spring,
the young boy was playing outside,
his favorite toy an old tire swing.
his mother had been watching him —
he was too young to be alone —
but she went off to refresh her drink,
and then she heard the phone.

When Neil came home from work that day
he saw the body lying in the dirt —
his boy's head crushed upon the rock,
blood soaked through his tiny shirt.
And he found his wife with her vodka blush,
the telephone in her hand.
He screamed at her to call the hospital,
the morgue visit yet unplanned.
But it was there they would end the day,
Joey on the table, only halfway to 10.
His wife clutched her silver and gold;
she never wore that necklace again.

Neil holds that chain now in his left hand,
imagining everything he had to give.
In his right, he holds the handmade noose —
eight years later, his only chance to live.
He'd greet her as she came home tonight;
he would help her write a note.
Then he'd tell her that he loved her
as he slowly gripped her throat.
It would be the truth, but she has to pay
for a heart so cruel and reckless.
Neil will give his wife a gift tonight,
and he knows she'll wear the necklace.