It was better before

Ma says the wind’s coming, the bad wind.

But I see nothing wrong. It’s very warm today.

My best friend and his grubby little brother have gone.

Their wrinkled Grandpa lives somewhere safe they said.

Da is dead. The cough got him.

 

I can’t find rope. An anchor.

That’s what the big policeman said it was.

The rusty old boats are empty.

They sit quiet in salty water.

Our neighbours are quiet as they move

Quickly with wood and tin and sad faces.

With block and stone.

The stone is very heavy.

Da is dead. The cough got him.

 

Hurry Cane, they say. But who is Cane.

Why is he coming here. We have nothing.

Why is he angry. What does he do with the wind.

My tummy rumbles as I search

Under dirty warm plastic for more rope. An anchor.

Even string will do. Then we’ll pray.

The Saints will keep us safe, Ma says.

From Cane who hurries with the bad wind.

My head is full of questions and thoughts

And a little dizzy. Perhaps if I find some

Rope I can find something to eat. And shoes.

 

It was better before.

But Da is dead. The cough got him.

A.D.

2 Comments »

  1. Wow, this is heartbreaking and so tragic, but beautifully written. You are a very talented writer and do an amazing job telling the story from a child’s point of view. Well done. Looking forward to reading more of your poetry.

    Liked by 1 person

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