Friday 30 January 2015

Flight Home


Ah, the complete

Utter, total

Reliability of the English

Family.

The game of

Travel Scrabble.

That solid certainty

Of the measured, considered

Conversation.

 

Assailed by pain

I leant forward

Quietly asked if Mother had any

Paracetamol was

Immediately rewarded with

 

Kind eyes and an innate understanding.

She saw the trauma.

I sipped, gratefully the

Spare water donated from her bag.

 

My exhausted tears spilled onto

 Scribbled poetry.

 

Drifting in and out of their

Conversations I heard  Father say,

Whilst discussing a dilemma,

 

‘It depends on

Where your conscience lies’

No comments:

Post a Comment