Jim Burns
The Day my Father Died
My father woke up one morning and died.
No-one asked him to, he just did it,
without fuss and with very few words,
which was the way he did most things.
‘I don’t feel well,’ he said,
and slid back into bed, where he lay,
a grimace on his face, or so my mother
told when I saw her later that day.
‘He had pains in his chest,’ she said,
‘and I went downstairs to get some brandy,
and when I got back to the bedroom
it was too late and he was dead.’
It was quiet in the street outside,
and beyond the window was a dark cloud.
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