Each night of his weeklong engagement
at the Garden State Arts Center,
Perry Como would stand backstage
waiting to go on and I, a summer
security guard, would stand next to him.

Each night I resolved to speak to him,
but each night I'd get too nervous,
so I said nothing as Perry stood
with me, resplendent in his tuxedo.
I wanted to tell him how much

it meant that when I was a child,
each night before Thanksgiving, he
would end his TV show by singing
"Bless This House" as my mother
mixed her stuffing for the turkey

my family would feast on the next day.
I wanted to tell him his "Bless This House"
was an early table grace for our most special
meal of the year. And I really wanted to tell him
that as he sang "Bless This House" in his reverent

voice, I'd sit in front of our black and white TV
with my father, sister, and brothers and feel
grateful for the blessing of my family in our house.
This is what I wanted to say to Perry Como
but never could, so I say it now in this poem

with the wish that he could hear me.


© by Edwin Romond.
Used with the author's permission.