Though my father was already two years’ dead
Mom kept his slippers on the floor
She never slept on his side of the bed
And sometimes sat, still waiting by the door.

You couldn’t just drop in, you had to phone
She’d put you off an hour to give her time
To clear away his things and look alone
As though her love was such a crime.

She couldn’t risk my disbelief
Thought soon she’d hear the key
Scrape in the rusted lock and end her grief
He’d just stepped out to hear the sea.

I believe life ends in death and that is all
You both are gone, but just the same
In my new black leather phonebook there’s your name
And the disconnected number I still call.