Five children, a sixth on the way,
the eldest around 7,
the others barely walking.
The Dad looks like a Kevin,
heavy arms bringing his shoulders down
to the top of his daughter’s head,
he feeds and is fed on
nothing but steak, pan fried and
broiled
for succulent juices to run down his shirt
uncoiling and picking up the pace
from face to stomach, a slight overhang
so his belt never sees the light.
The Mum stays quiet,
a Kate or Collette,
but she says nothing,
just stands there carrying his sixth baby
keeping it away from the narrow traffic to the side of her.
Five children, a sixth on the way,
the eldest around 7,
all waiting to start another academic year.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 9:34 AM UTC
Five children, a sixth on the way,
the eldest around 7,
the others barely walking.
The Dad looks like a Kevin,
heavy arms bringing his shoulders down
to the top of his daughter’s head,
he feeds and is fed on
nothing but steak, pan fried and
broiled
for succulent juices to run down his shirt
uncoiling and picking up the pace
from face to stomach, a slight overhang
so his belt never sees the light.
The Mum stays quiet,
a Kate or Collette,
but she says nothing,
just stands there carrying his sixth baby
keeping it away from the narrow traffic to the side of her.
Five children, a sixth on the way,
the eldest around 7,
all waiting to start another academic year.
from coffeeshoppoems.com - a place for no-nonsense poetry
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