The familiar parlour smell
Of dining table oak
Reads like a collection
Of days, crumbs of
Conversations, aromatic
Smoke and laughter,
Tears of life and death.

Grandfather clock chimes
Recall Sunday lunch at two.
Pops, pipe-to-lips one end
Dad the other. I spectate
Their centre court tennis
With gramaphone applause.

Kitchen chatter wafts closer.
Mum serves heaven-scented
lamb. Nan, ciggie-rich, kisses
My cheek and we begin.

Her passing called time
For this table, this rooom.
House clearance men outside.
No turning back now.

First published in Optimum Poetry Zine, June 2017