Phoning Home
By Silver Spun Sand
- 4461 reads
A voice says,
‘Hang on, she’ll go and fetch him.
She’ll only be a jiffy’.
His latest, I supposed.
He was in the garden –
digging, according to her,
and I could picture him...
Khaki, moleskin trousers,
brown checked shirt,
open at the neck;
a tweed cravat.
He’d be whistling away
to his heart’s content;
Colonel Bogy
or something of that ilk,
depending on how many times
he’d cut himself shaving that day...
Or indeed, if his shares
had performed well
as regards their bed
and breakfasting.
And all the while,
a twin-train
Viennese regulator,
doggedly ticking
in some down-town
sun-streaked hallway;
rainbow prisms on the wall;
fresh-cut roses
in a crystal, Lalique vase.
A footfall – floorboards creaking...
A voice says, “Hi! Who is this, please?”
For one brief, shining moment,
“Missing you, so much,”
is on the tip of my tongue
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Comments
A beautiful moment captured.
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I agree with Alexander and
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This is very thought
SteveM
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I remember reading this when
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I agree with everything the
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Superb - very effective. I
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You are a master (mistress
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