tea with bad milk

I remember our first holiday
on a campsite in the rain

a woman made us tea with bad milk
before we headed home again

guilt sits upon the memory
unpalatable and lumpy

one is forced to bear it all
then swallow politely

what the tea leaves told us
I never could recall

but no amount of sourness now
can change what came before

Death in Dublin

When Father collapsed and died in Dublin,
I was eating a very good chocolate muffin.

Mother screamed. A teacup fell.
It’s not that he’d even been unwell.

I’m afraid I took another bite;
it was so deliciously moist and light.

[first posted 7 July 2014]