Monday Morning
He picked a cup
from in the cupboard,
Laid it on the
granite counter.
He flicks the
switch on the kettle
Chucks a teabag
into the cup.
The sizzling and
the rumble of the kettle,
The fingers tap
side with impatience.
The rush of the
water hitting the cup
Filling the
contained space,
He placed it back
on the latch and didn’t switch off the power.
He opened the drawer
slowly,
He began to rustle
around for the perfect teaspoon.
I heard the
cupboard creak and the sugar was pulled out,
A heaped spoonful
of grain was tipped in.
But he didn’t put
it back,
The cupboard was
still open.
He got milk from
the fridge,
Unscrewed the lid
and poured it in the tea,
But he left
everything out.
He stirred the tea
once or twice,
Then he poured it
down his throat,
He put back the
cup and left it half full.
He lifted a tin
from his jacket pocket,
And his hand
wrapped around a pipe.
His hat found its
place on his head,
And his coat came
with him.
He left the
kitchen slowly.
The front door flew
open and
The wind pushed
through like an army of invisible horses.
The door shut
behind him.
Tears welled in my
eyes,
My dad always says
goodbye with a kiss and a cuddle.
He wasn’t the
same…
By Hollie Thomas
6NA
Inspired by Breakfast by Jacques Prevert
