Notes To His Children

A droubble by minniealice

I wish you could have seen him this morning.
His pale blue eyes wounded and teary
as he witnessed the postman disappear without calling here,
on this day of all days. It's no way to see a man begin his 78th year.

I watched him as he fed the birds fluttering around him
in the freezing cold, funny, they weren't a bit wary of him.
He stood like St Frances with them all clamouring at his feet,
even a sparrow chanced to land on his head.
Yet, you, his flesh and blood, keep your distance, ignore him.


When it is time for him to leave this life, will you cry, will you care? What was it that he did? Was it because he married me?
It couldn't have been that he was abusive to your mother, or any of you.

He was a tender carer, you all hurried to let me know that. How it was him you cried out for when you were having your childish nightmares.
How he would wipe the sweat from your brows, turning your pillows to the cool side. So tell me, make me understand.

Why do you beat him so with your cruel indifference?




Published on 10/02/15