MY FATHER'S BEDROOM
A single bed, someone's
One suit hanging,
Your life, your death.
The thick scent of your grease,
Your body odour I recall
Familiar from my childhood.
The grime of your toil lingering
On the pillow and soiled bed
Clothes of your dreams.
They scurried through the house
Raising carpets and floorboards,
Certain of treasures to claim.
I went to the window and lifted
The blemished fragile curtain,
My breath fell with yours, stale
On the cold transparency.
I left with nothing, apart from
That thick scent I thought
Was lost until today.
If you've any comments on his poem, Adrian
Fox would be pleased to hear from