£3:50 with frame

I passed the pound shop window,
Glanced in and saw my Dad,
He died in 1999, can you believe it, how sad,
He was in a photo, taken in the war,
Sitting on a log with other Chindits,
A fag, a smile and malaria,
Malaria saved his life, sick in an Indian hospital,
His mates killed in action, well, some of them,
He made it back home, the forgotten army,
Now he lives in a pound shop window,
£3:50 with the frame,
I couldn’t go in, you know what I mean?
I passed and thought,
Well, who would believe it,
I couldn’t believe it myself.




Poetry by JohnJohn
Read 117 times
Written on 2023-01-09 at 09:11

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Life sometimes brings these 'absurdities' doesn't it! You couldn't have imagined it if you tried. Your poem is cleverly descriptive, though myself I would not have been able to resist the urge to part with £3:50.
Allen
2023-01-10