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Father
Contributed by
cashfan1
on
Tuesday, 18th May 2010 @ 02:55:29 AM in AEST
Topic:
FamilyPoems
|
My father left the pub at one minute to eleven every night.
His watch, once inspected, dangled pompously on it's silver chain.
Camel coat buttoned to his throat, it's collar stiff with nicotine and stale beer,
He stepped out on to the bustling Fulham road,
Past roaring traffic and shouting drunks he made his way along the shifty back streets,
Diamond lined with frost and stiff brown leafs, his breath a sibilant whisper on the night air.
And even now as I sit by the fires warm embrace
I can hear his lilting irish voice in conversation with someone who never answered back.
And though the years still try to obliterate,
This memory is still as sharp as the frost that lined those faraway London streets,
The pavenments still fresh with his footprints, The air stuborn with winter
And his face red from the old and a whiskey too many.
Copyright ©
cashfan1
... [
2010-05-18 02:55:29]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Father
(User Rating: 1 )
by Debris on
Tuesday, 18th May 2010 @ 01:58:40 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
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| Very touching- I like your writing style. (I'm a little biased with this one though- I'm Irish and recognise some of the traits mentioned here in people I know). |
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