This bleak Day

Rain greases the pane
A steady sound on the roof glass
It’s not yet light
Yet the day ahead feels bleak
A day clearing my father’s house
Same pattern; same house
That overwhelming feeling 
Stealthily creeps into the grey hours
It’s a job to be done.
That’s my mantra.

Slow traffic and misted windscreens
Moving in time to the radio beat.
Was it ‘72 or ‘74?
The quiz goes on
Traffic at a standstill somewhere 
On the M5.
Once stuck in,the hours dissipate 
Time is measured by trips to the tip 
The bin bags we’ve filled 
Inch by inch a room is cleared
Memories charged 
Then lives erased
Leaving no trace
Swallowed in black plastic
Ironical really 
For a family that tried to use less
Here is more 
Fifty years to recycle
To Landfill
Guilt merges with forgiveness 
The house is released.
It fees redemptive.
Until we go again. 

The rain intensifies
It’s still dark.