Three Poems

Parable with Ageing Parent

They’re both down by 9
             at table 5 – the

             bay window table! –
clicking cutlery

with the egg smells, clicks,
             scrapes and tiny talk,

             talking and scraping
at full Englishes.

The year dismantles
             against our wishes;

             he sees it over
her head, through warped glass:

dry leaves quave, pitch, or
             tousle ragged lawns.

             In here, buff lights burn,
the year dismantles,

and she pours coffee
...