Jack

Jack looked at window.
Moroe stroked his head. Incessantly.
And Jack stared.

In the afternoon, she brought him
some chocolate, and sat,
eating it with him.

The night was beginning to fall, so
Moroe closed the curtains. But Jack
didn’t care, he just continued to stare.

On Tuesdays Moroe went to town. She
always told Jack the shops she’d visit, and he’d
listen to her when she returned.

A slight patter of rain. The door opened,
and Father came in. “Hello old boy”
he said, and sat down.

Jack had seen his father before, and perhaps that
was why he didn’t turn round, just stayed, staring
at the window.

“I’m going to leave here. Leave town. I can’t do this any more”
Moroe sobbed into the check of Jack’s father’s
jacket. “I understand” he said.

And Jack kept a brave face
and stared, at the rain-soaked window
like tears running down the glass.

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