Monday 15 December 2014

His life













That was his favourite guitar.
That was the place where he sat.
He would play at night, usually a 12–bar.
He shared the sofa with his cat.
That was where he parked his car.
He wanted to be warm like all of us –
he tried not to be like his father
to be secure; to push back chaos.
Like him, he looked for a bargain.
Sometimes, when watching TV
he would drift, gently, into oblivion.
See where it is hollow, the old settee.
That was his wallet. He had no wife.
Those were his things, his habits, his life.

1 comment:

Corkycat said...

Like your "His life" poem, Will.