Supper
Our father comes to supper,
his shed is locked,
his tools are put away.
Tomorrow is the last day
he will wear shoes.
The dog eats the bread
as we eat the honey,
our fingers bumping and colliding
over the table.
Everyone is quiet,
everyone’s lips are dry
as he breaks open
his last cigarette pack.
There’s nowhere to look but our plates
so we eat the honey and the dog eats the
bread.
I ask how he’s feeling
but my words go down through him
like stones through deep water.
His chest rattles,
nothing can heal it,
as we eat the honey and the dog eats the
bread,
being allowed in the parlour
just this once.
Page(s) 79
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