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.

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