Poetry Daily: http://www.poems.com/

My Parents Are Playing Scrabble on the Deck


My parents are playing Scrabble on the deck on a warm
May evening and I know even if my father isn't winning
he's anticipating victory; that he has taken far too much
time to place his latest word on the swivelling board,
while my mother, I know, is reading a book club novel,
something by Márquez or Moore and nibbling on a foil-
bared square of dark chocolate amid quick sips of rooibos
as the collie clicks around the long wooden table
and that when it's my mother's turn she will take haste to piece
her syllables, my father stealing this fast
moment to carry in the tea tray, to sneak in a Sudoku puzzle,
give advice on the spelling of alluvial, or just to gaze
over the ever-shifting yards that surround my parents' constant home.
O I know it is passing, that soon night will end the deep game again.


Catherine Owen

Dear Ghost,
Wolsak and Wynn


To view this poem online, visit the Poetry Daily archive at http://www.poems.com/archive.php
View a large-print version of this poem