Thoughts on the Death of my Father
(Nappies
aren’t supposed to be for grown-ups.
Grief, not crusts, whips hair into curls.
He does his dying, is gone; still the nurse’s day
drags on.)
What if it had been my mother?
Image by Eduardo Sancinetti
You may also like
The Isis Poetry Competition HT21 Winner
1 On a summer evening, I stood outside on the pavement lifting my arms & pouring my own-most ent
‘Stones’ by George MacBeth
Stones that are chiselled by the niggling rain, Dislodged by blast, or twisted in the
Poetry
The hired car rolls, wriggling down south along the river, away from the colonial glamour of the Bun
