Three Ducks

This poem is about my nanna
these flying ducks were hers
and now they are mine.
i think that sometimes i feel like her
now "the oldest and dearest"
has flown the nest.
but yet in nearly every way we are nothing alike
(not something i will go into)
she had three sons
and i think the poem
is getting back to that whole feeling...
Well read into it what you will
but hopefully you will feel something...

Three Ducks

The tellies on
but talks to itself.
She says to herself and stares.

The lino’s become
old and worn,
She scrubs it still
thou no-one’s home.
The washings hung,
in neat little rows.
Mend the holes, scrub the toes.
She says to herself and stares.

The Dahlia’s are pretty
this time of year.
Thorns and prickles
in her hands.
Grass as high as her knee.
It’s going to be hot
this summer she says.
She says to herself and stares.

Dinners cooked
and going cold.
Remembering things, apron strings.
The kids will be home,
maybe next week.
A cup of tea,
and a biscuit for me.
She smiles and stares.

By Michelle…