The Fag End of the Meal – by Lee Thompson

 

Sunday dinners circa 1979
were comforting
and burnt.

Mum would try her hardest
but grew tired of making excuses
for the vegetables
that emerged from the pan
spoiling for a fight.

The meat
apologetic and flustered
was clothed in a suit
that was as cheap
as the aftershave of the man
that sold it to my dad
round the back of The Comet.

At the fag end of the meal
the dishes
queuing by the sink
patiently waiting for the Fairy
were staring at mum
the same as me.

I’m glad that she couldn’t see me
through the narrow gap in the door
as she counted coppers into teacups
tears bouncing off the floor.

 

 

 

Lee is a Nottingham poet, previously unpublished, and an ex-police officer (medically retired at the ripe old age of 42 after an injury on duty). A lot of his writing is based on the ups and downs of life at the sharp end of life (and death).