24 June 2012
No milk again.
He checks the fridge for the seventh time
Each time asserting its presence
Replaying the revelation over and over.
We hop over paint tins, oil cloths and jam jars,
A hoarder through and through,
The pyjamas we bought him one Christmas
Still in their packet.
Stuck in his ways.
We search in old tuna cans and biscuit tins
For the marbles he lost,
Only finding his father's medals
And little wooden ships he carved
Amongst the dust and debris.
Yet despite his demise,
The memories slipping,
The sanity fading,
The reason disappearing
He never runs out of toilet roll.
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Marbles • Opuss № I