Tuesday, April 28, 2020

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

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