You always kept the curtains drawn
when the northerlies burned
and the children laughed,
naked and wet from the dam.
You always kept the curtains drawn
when the pot belly hissed
and smoky dust settled
on the books in their shabby rows.
You avoided the light (too bright)
and the sun (too hot)
and laughed long and hard
at a world you loved and feared.
Your voice grew tight
when I said goodbye
and your Irish eyes were hollow.
But you could not stop me,
nor ultimately the cancer
that destroyed your liver -
but never your will to live.
'Goodnight sweet prince
and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.'
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shadows-of-an-ex/
