Tags
bashfulbadgersblog, bereavement, covid, death of my father, funeral home, hospice, lockdown, NaPoWriMo, poem, poem in a white ribbed vest
dad, despite covid,
I take your hand,
but you shake it free,
ever suspicious
of solicitude.
you keep help at bay
with a fierce negative growl
or a polite demurral.
you soften your verdict
to a novice GP,
with a gracious ‘it was
a pleasure to meet you too’,
barbing it nevertheless with
‘sorry you’ve wasted your time.’
‘trust no one’ was ever your mantra,
your blueprint of conduct in life.
you followed it to the very end
and died alone in a room
with a view you could not see.
For my father, who died on 12 May 2020 during lockdown one.
Photo of my Dad and me by Chantal.
poem in a white ribbed vest 