A new poem by Kay McKenzie Cooke.

my late father

After running for the bus
and the waiting driver telling me
I was cutting it a bit fine
time-wise, I sit down

thanking my lucky stars
and sense a momentary, sympathetic hand
on my shoulder. Country-reared,
my late father was terrified of city buses.

How do you work out where to stop
and pull the cord? While he’s here
on the bus with me, figuratively speaking,
I ask him
what eternity is like.

It is largesse, he says, it’s forever
never running out. It’s having more
than enough time.
And then some.

The Friday Poem is brought to you by Nevermore Bookshop, home of kooky, spooky romance novels and special edition book boxes. Visit Nevermore Bookshop today.