Memories of Him
A morning splash of after shave
cigarette burnt fingers
that told me what to do
Life was walloped in our kitchen
by mother dusted hands
He grabs my hand and asks me
in a quiet whisper I could hear,
"Where is your mom ?"
"She's in the attic painting, Dad "
I remember the pointed finger
and the scruffy voice that said,
"Mark my words son,
one day you'll be all grown up
and you may not remember me ?"
His bushy brows and sardonic smile
the way he loved too much to rile,
"Do you know who I am, dad ? "
silence....
A morning splash of light on vacant eyes
so much like mine and then,
he sighs....
Mystic Rose
5/2/2019
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
