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Sun Room
Sitting in the sun room
At a nearby hotel
Reading a new book
All was going well
Ringing, the phone danced
I had an incoming call
“Who is this?” I wondered
And answered it I chanced
The heat travelled through the glass
My sweaty palm grappled on the phone
An anxious voice was on the line
“We need you quick, come home!”
To the car I ran
And fired up the motor
Onto the road I glided
Like an old milk floater
Back at the house
I had arrived
To see an ambulance
“Your mother’s died,” the medic said
A moment anachronous
Copyright ©
Tadgh Quill-Manley
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