Downstairs

We spent an hour

sitting with your father,

hearing him speak,

you listening, whilst I sat awkwardly 

on the edge of the sofa. 

He was chatting on

about the war,

one he never fought in,

but just liked to talk about. 

I listened until

you took me to bed,

undressed,

laid yourself on-top,

nestled your way inside

and all I could hear

was your fathers voice

downstairs. 

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