Morning Bill

We sleep downstairs,
wonderful in this heat and
I’m dreaming of Bea playing
outside the open bedroom window
too early
then realise it’s the boys next door
in the tree house.
I slip out and leave you to sleep
entangled, and
stumble up to make tea,
wash up last night’s wine glasses
wistful, remembering
the taste of each wine
the words of each friend
still sat out at midnight
warm as freshly picked fruit.
Now, a lazy breakfast
at the same table
coffee, yoghurt and strawberries
far too healthy, but
it’s Father’s Day, so
I think of the children
and my own father too, long dead

© Graham Sherwood 06/2017