Friday, 30 January 2015

Flight Home

Ah, the complete

Utter, total

Reliability of the English


The game of

Travel Scrabble.

That solid certainty

Of the measured, considered



Assailed by pain

I leant forward

Quietly asked if Mother had any

Paracetamol was

Immediately rewarded with


Kind eyes and an innate understanding.

She saw the trauma.

I sipped, gratefully the

Spare water donated from her bag.


My exhausted tears spilled onto

 Scribbled poetry.


Drifting in and out of their

Conversations I heard  Father say,

Whilst discussing a dilemma,


‘It depends on

Where your conscience lies’

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