Tuesday poem #369 : James Hawes : The Sad House

My friend Mark lived in the saddest house

on my street. It was small, brown, the bricks

were cracked & you couldn’t see through the

windows. We used to hang out in his living

room, all my other friends had basements. The

walls were tobacco-yellow, but they had an old

puffy couch—Mark & I would play-fight on it

while his mother made Rice Krispy squares. His

mom liked me. Back then she was probably the

same age I am now as I write this poem. She was

a kind, attractive lady. If I knew her at my age I

bet we would be friends. She was caring & had

an amusing son & they loved each other in the

saddest house on my street.

James Hawes writes & lives in Montreal as a father, husband & doorman to cats. His first full-length book of poetry Breakfast With A Heron (Mansfield Press) was published in 2019. He sends kindness & good vibrations to all his fellow writers—and to everyone else for that matter—searching for inspiration in this strange strange time.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan