Poetry with Dean and Michael

I shut the coal shed door, dust on my fingers,
Like pollen transferring to a reprimand
on yellow drawing room 3 piece suit
Gone gone, the coal, the front room furniture,
the reprimand, the mother who gave it.

I shut out the hopes of then, of a long refectory table
for children, grandchildren, elongating dreams
of effecting a change, altering a river course

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