The Black Coat Poem by Gert Strydom

Father read poems,
studied literature for his master's degree,
mother snipped patterns
for a new dress
while the evening fell
and I were tending my farm,
with animals from packets of ice-cream,
dinky toy pickup trucks and cars

and the black coat behind the door,
the hat above it
looked menacing
while the fan turned
on the ceiling.

That coat could get a life of its own
and with the hat
could become a frightening stranger
who was very strict
and came in at the back door
when I did not want to eat my food

but now it was only hanging
like coats do
and dad was reading the poem
of the cannibal
and my arm hairs were raising
and mother frowned at the pattern,
stopped snipping, went to the kitchen
and returned with tea and a smile.