John McCullagh October 21, 2008
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The click of needles, lapping, overlapping

With the ticking of the clock.

A fresh scrubbed child, tugging

At a rag-doll’s torn frock.

 

The banked-up fire, slack and coke

Breathing warmth across the room.

 

Mantles glowing, left and right

Cast light into the gloom.

 

A blackened kettle bubbling

Lid lifting on the ring.

 

Enameled bowl, awaiting

With red soap on the rim.

 

A place still set for dinner

Plate-topped, overdue

 

All waiting for the footfall

Of a hobnailed wooden shoe.

 

The double-tap upon the door

The lifting of the latch

 

A weary smile, the wistful eyes

The doffing of a cap.

 

Hometime.

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