The Poppies' Beckoning

In the lounge, seated atop his leather throne

he’d puff a cig and read yestereve’s forecast

Rumbling and snarling about the economy

In his castle where even the clocks were silent

On the off chance that I broke the silence

as I sometimes did while playing

His voice would thunder and the room would shake

and I’d seek the safety of my pillow fort

Mother would soothe his wraith

and comfort me

as I now comfort her

in our relict hut

I see him by perchance nowadays

nestled in his wilted chair

or out by the poppy fields

standing sentry