Read me the paper Uncle
Loud enough to hear in the kitchen
Touch it for me, turn those pages
Aunties and I are cooking the dinner
hands must be kept clean.
But in your place by the fire
the beige recliner squeaks
on the back-beat of your rocking,
toes slide in and out of slippers
leather stretched out and soft
as a first basemen’s glove
Calloused hands turn each inky page
of the Sunday review
headlines shout at us
while we chop onions
by SPL
National Poetry Month | Write a Poem a Day
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Love the duet of goings on in this poem. Captures a precious family moment.
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Thank you still life, for all your visits and great comments. My Uncle, would really shout out the stories to us. Its a warm memory.
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