Tom Poem by Adrian Taheny

Sunday, past lunchtime and very late,
He eventually came home; the youngest, inebriated,
To an alter of good example, where my mother
Smoked an odd one in the shed and her
Off the cigarettes for years.


It was in the oven and I'd swear
He may even have seen it as his head
Hit the tiles - Artistic impression, Nil.


Again they came and sorted, supported.
Leaving aside all absolutes; put him to bed
And said, 'He had nothing in his stomach.
He can eat it later when he's had time to rest'.