My father hated his father.
Aged sixteen he ran away from home.
Joined the army on a nine-year contract.
A few months later, my grandfather found him,
miserably ill in a military hospital.
“Take me home.”
“You’ve made your bed. Lie in it.”
Then the War.
The above is from my on-going collection of fifty-word poems 50/50ish. From the section “Before Memory: Family Stories”. See also this accompanying post.