Dad

by Donna Roberts
(Essex, England)

Mugs of cold tea
Stagnating by soiled tissues
That littered the sterile table
In that warm, fragrant room
Filled with bouquets of flowers
When words were abandoned
I thought of you
And found it easier to hide
Or clean the kitchen
Or paint a room
To not view the contents
Of plastic carrier-bags
And the most painful sight
That I have ever seen
Were the untied laces on your shoes
Placed neatly to one side

© Donna Roberts