Is covered in the grime
That keeps my eyelids welded shut...
But one. You taught me how to sing.
You'd remember that too, I know.
We sat in the chill of your room,
Ignoring others idle words.
Your father's voice, your mother's too,
Ever shouting, ever arguing,
Over such a paltry thing
As me. As you...
As the too loud, old radio,
Just two tape decks and a tuner,
Playing whichever, oldy song,
We'd decided was best to listen to.
Frank Sinatra, my little secret
And "I've Got You..."
Rainbow captured in my mind's eye.
For once you raise a crooked smile,
Bending eleven years older skin...
Eleven years and still I'm mourning...
How angry your little self would be,
Little self, singing...
"I would sacrifice anything, come what might,
For the sake of having you near,
In spite of a warning voice
That comes in the night
How it yells
In my ear."
Posted for One Shot Wednesday on http://www.onestoppoetry.com
Thumb (like) me on Facebook or Tweet it to Twitterydoo if you enjoyed this.
Follow me on Twitter http://twitter.com/#!/AdamWhitePoet