• Pages

  • Site Sections

  • Tags

  • Archives

At The Till – Poem: the prosaic courage of survival



At The Till

The old man’s
dying eyes
stared at me
cut to my soul
at the till

he knew and he knew
I knew too
gasping for breath
each defiant grasp
for life only
lasted two words
and then another
I am dying rattle
clutched my heart
at the till

I tried to put
Every ounce
Of comfort
I could find
into my tone
not my words
for they would
as they always do

no consolation
no recompense
no relief
no solace
no escape
I met death today
face to face
at the till

and I could not
stop crying
at the till

Leave a Reply