The call comes late.

Wearily I climb from my bed, Barefoot, mooching across the floor.

Phone charged.

With a yank the cord is pulled,

‘Your Dad is in hospital.’

Another heart-attack.

‘I will ring him!’ It’s late.

Three thirty, maybe he is asleep.

Groggily I dial his number. He answers, his voice is weak, And the line bad.

I ask my Dad how he feels.

His voice is soft,

‘I am very tired.’

We had words the previous day; Not looking after his health, But this is not the time.

Crackling and white noise, A very poor line.

We talk for a while.

I tell him I love him, I will ring back in the morning.

I promise.

The phone rings,

The phone rings, And no one answers.

The phone rings,

The phone rings, And no one answers.

I call the hospital,

A doctor is located.

Strange that he wants to ring me back.

‘I am sorry to tell you,’

I feel the lump rising in my throat.

‘Your father passed away.’

Screams.

My screams.

‘At TWO this morning!’

I drop the phone, It shatters.