The Day you Stopped Coming


 The day you stopped coming
 I found your crumpled sock under the sofa
 One of your favourite pair
 It caught me, it stuck in my throat

 “She doesn’t want to come anymore”
 The SMS
 That modern telegram
 Landed like a soft bombshell

 I can see your last time here
 Dancing in my kitchen
 All poses and pirouettes 
 Then your dead bird impressions 
 And we fell about laughing

 It’s hard for you I know
 I am your father, she is your mother
 We barely speak to one another
 And you 
 Our seven year old

 You asked me if I would be sad
 I couldn’t lie but told you it was OK
 It is ok
 I am waiting here
 To see you dancing back
 To bring the colour back 

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