The door shouted as you
came in after work. Your high
viz brought in a fake sun.
We tilted words off our heads
as we nodded. You never lied
to me but never spoke the truth.
You placed your spirit level
on the kitchen table. The bubble
went with your weight as you
filled the kettle. The newspaper
was rolled in your pocket and all I
got was headlines.
You sold my fishing tackle
that you bought for my birthday.
UHT milk poured out of the fridge
as you made a cuppa. I sat listening
to the glug of another weekend.
Years ago you shouted from the sidelines
told me to run faster, tackle harder.
Now the freezer hums in my ears
as you go upstairs to shave away
the shifts off your face.
Gareth lives in Wales. He has two collections by FutureCycle, The Miner & A Bard's View. His Twitter handle is:
@culshawpoetry1