Poem: Ink Stained Hands

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

mannewspaper uk
Man Reading a Newspaper by Stephen Gillett
by SPL
National Poetry Month | Write a Poem a Day
***

Published by

S.P. Laws Writer

Shannon P. Laws lives in Bellingham Washington. She is a poet, was a radio producer from 2011-2018, and is currently working on a series of stories.

2 thoughts on “Poem: Ink Stained Hands”

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