Don'T Listen Poem by Terry Collett

Don'T Listen



Don’t listen to him,
Gran said,
indicating
with a nod

of her head,
to Granddad
in the other room,
sitting by the fire

with his loose clothes
holding in bones.
You stood by the door,
peeping through

the thin crack
between door
and frame,
your young eyes

like a hawk’s,
catching the view:
Granddad lighting up
a cigarette,

to set him off
on the cough
and spit and phlegm,
and Gran’s hazel eyes

lighting up with anger
and her tongue
like a viper’s
ready to condemn.

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