Anger and Andy

     The poetry class I am taking is continuing ed., meaning nongraded. Therefore, though the instructor is free to give assignments, I am also free to ignore them.  But I gave myself an assignment. Since nearly all of my poems have come out of my own experience, my goal was to write a fiction poem. I found it interesting and challenging.  Two verses into this poem about an unopened package, I realized I had no idea what was in the package. Modern poetry is often abstract, but it still seemed like a good idea for the author to know what was coming next.  This is what came next:

          Anger and Andy

All through the years he had wondered
what was in the package
but he had never opened it,
partly out of spite,
partly fear
that the pain of her leaving
would come back to him.
It was better to stay angry.
Anger had kept him company
these nine years
constant as a friend
or, at least, a drinking buddy.
They had done a lot of that together--
Anger and Andy.

But  the package tormented him, sitting there
in all its brown smugness, looking down
on him the way she had.
There was no more money
for liquor tonight,
not even beer.
So Anger did Andy one last favor
before he left for the night
to keep company with some other drunk.
Together they torn open the package,
the mocking memory of his marriage,
tore it to pieces.

A picture fell to the ground
his son, in a broken frame,
the mangled memory of his murder.
Torn to pieces
when he went through the windshield
as the car nosed into the ground
because his drunken father
was angry for having to do the favor
of picking his son up that night
when his wife normally did.
He'd had only beer,
no hard liquor.
He thought he was sober enough
to look after his only child.
Tormented he remembered

looking down at the small brown coffin
a package forever unopened.
Nine years she had stayed away;
his wife would never come back to him.
She left behind only the package--
and Anger
Anger and Andy.