More often than not,
he’d stay home;
cook for her,
feed her...wash her...
cut her fingernails,
when she’d let him.
Read to her,
clean for her,
put fresh linen
on her bed,
comb and brush
her hair, but sometimes
he’d get on a bus...
to simply talk
to whoever would listen.
Longing, as he did,
for conversation
he never
got from her.
Buy himself a treat;
a pack of tobacco.
Grab a coffee
in the square – watch
the passers by...
Light his pipe, blow
smoke rings in the air,
then tap it out
on the arm of his chair...
watch the ash
fall
to the ground
midst a cacophony
of pigeons -
like bits
and pieces
of the rest
of his life.
Stroll through the park
as night fell...
elbow the stars
with somebody,
or other – did Dad.
Comments
Highhat | September 24, 2011 - 21:36
Very moving Tina.
;)Pia
Silver Spun Sand | September 25, 2011 - 06:53
Thank you, Pia.
Tina;-)
Richard L. Prov... | September 25, 2011 - 10:32
A very nice slice of reality, said in such a poetic way, Tina. Well done. Richard LP.
Silver Spun Sand | September 25, 2011 - 11:40
Thank you for that Richard. Much appreciated.
Tina
skinner_jennifer | September 25, 2011 - 13:48
Hi Tina,
I agree with Pia, this is such a moving piece of
writing and I think he must have been very
courageous.
Congrats on the well deserved cherries and
thankyou for sharing.
Jenny.
Silver Spun Sand | September 25, 2011 - 14:10
Thanks for reading, Jenny.
Yes, he was, although it took its toll on him in the end. It was in the seventies and early eighties, when there was hardly any social care, and even before early-onset Alzheimer's was recognised as an illness in its own right.
Pleased you got something from this, and your comment is more than appreciated.
Tina
fatboy74 | September 25, 2011 - 19:40
Thoroughly deserved cherry Tina, really enjoyed. :-)
Silver Spun Sand | September 25, 2011 - 20:02
Many thanks, fb;-)
Tina
barryj1 | September 26, 2011 - 18:36
A brief, compact poem that reads like a novella - how exactly do you do it?
When I read Chekhov, I would finish a story and think "This story is very special. It's valuable. I don't want to forget it." Sometimes, years later, I would think back and remember the Chekhov story - in it's entirety... because it was that good, that valuable, that precious.
This poem shares many of those stark, Chekhovian qualities.
Cavalcaderl | September 27, 2011 - 09:52
new Silver-Spun-Sand
Hi! Tina, I completely agree
with Barry's remarks.
Written so well.Plus
The Man In The Street!
Was truly hidden till the
end of the poem, was your
dad. Had to cope, needed
the break inbetween
To cope! Like some have to
or want to.
Must been wonderful dad.
Well deserved cherry!
all the best
julie xx
Silver Spun Sand | September 27, 2011 - 11:43
Hi there, Barry. You ask a very interesting question at the start of your comment...and I suppose it's because I'm one of those people who always makes a kind of story up when relating a particular situation. Over the years, I have got used to my family saying, 'For goodness sake, just get on with it', that I've learnt, by necessity, how to condense my descriptions, somewhat, at least;-)
Pleased you enjoyed it so much, and for your, as always, inspired words;-)
Tina
Silver Spun Sand | September 27, 2011 - 11:44
He was a wonderful Dad, Julie. I was very lucky. Pleased you liked this one, and I hope your week is going well;-)
Tina xx
ScoZen | September 27, 2011 - 18:45
A lovely and sad read.
re your reply to JennyS "...when there was hardly any social care..."
There still isn't any, and what is around is fraught
with problems.
Take care.
Silver Spun Sand | September 27, 2011 - 20:33
You just about hit the nail on the head, ScoZen...regarding 'social care'. Couldn't agree more. But that is another story, as they say.
You too, take care, and thanks, so very much for reading, and for your inspired comment.
Tina
Kahdai | October 8, 2011 - 16:09
Thankyou Tina, about loving life, that is how it is :)
Silver Spun Sand | October 8, 2011 - 16:37
;-) Pleased you agree, Kahdai