A vivid childhood memory of my father - a coal miner; he'd had a hard life, and missed out on expressing emotions.
Dad
I sat gazing into the fireeating bread and butter.
He came and leant over
and spat into the flames,
and I watched it sizzle
until it had burnt away;
but once he had spat
he no longer stayed
© D G Moody 2023
Poetry by D G Moody
Read 189 times
Written on 2023-03-03 at 17:23
Tags Memory 
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