Bad timing (1938)

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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.

Dad begged:
“Take me home.”

The reply?
“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.

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