The Creative Man
Our first cramped council house
was taken up by the mahogany
dining table my dad used for a desk.
I remember beautiful fountain pens;
jars of cloudy water; coffee cups
spotted with ink.
The way his soft shadows
darkened across a dozen
crumpled work sheets when I lost
my way and started setting fires.
I wonder what he dreams about
now that his life is still, waiting
for an artist to study him. I’ve been
meaning to ask what happened
to the beautiful fountain pens.
The pictures that made me smile.
Maybe I’m afraid
of the answer, I don’t know.
Sometimes I think, if we had
the money, I’d like to buy
everything he needs to start again.
And if he doesn’t want to start again,
perhaps we could find space for another
mahogany table. More pens and jars
of cloudy water. Hoping one dark Sunday,
when the rusty smell of a gathering storm
whispers down the stairs, I will find
the picture he was meant to draw
waiting in the smoke of his absence.
Bobby Parker was born in 1982. He lives in Kidderminster, England. His most recent collections are Ghost Town Music and Comberton (knivesforksandspoonspress), Digging for Toys and the limited edition chapbook Building Murder with a Smile.