Cables

cables_01_by_ribot02-d55feku

After my father left, I found him
five days later, working
with cables. As if nothing had changed,

squeezing cool pliers, a handful of tape
to stick himself together
in rags of summer blue.

I crouched there, hunched like a ragdoll
forgotten, spying and ashamed.
As he tugged and grasped

I watched him twine the slim asps
round his knuckles, clip colours, and I saw
for one moment only, his frown

through the weepy steam of his tea
rainbows spring from my father’s fingers,
a split-second sparkle, I’m sorry.

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