Martha O'Brien. Llanishen
P o e t r y
Visiting Home on a Sunday Afternoon
ā
Strange, that this place never felt far away
from busy city streets and bus lanes but
now I know it takes at least three tracks on
the Fleetwood Mac compilation disk I
got last birthday. A three-point-turn to Tusk.
ā
Rachel flips the finger in her wing mirror
as she drives Dom to work and spots me.
Sean works in the kitchen, accidentally
naked before he sees me. Too busy with my book
to notice, I note I'm not normally here.
ā
Mum's Laden with shopping but makes the tea.
There's just enough in the kettle for her and me.
She sits under the canvas of Dad and
I could feel sad, but Kieran's not here either,
nor Hannah nor Craig. The lot of them have
popped out today.
ā
The hedge cutters blew up in Mum's hands,
yesterday. She's going to get some shears.
"And if you leave," she says, knowing I will,
"Lock closed the patio doors because
that pigeon will try to come in here."
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