POETRY, PROSE AND PAINTINGS

 

 

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             Mr Brown     

 

 

 

 

 

 

Old

    I was seven years old

    when my mum's aunty died

    and left us the house in the square

    but I knew from the moment we stepped inside

    that old Mr. Brown was still there.

 

    A smell of tobacco

    when none of us smoked

    an odd cold spot on the stair.

    "Perhaps it's haunted," my father joked.

    or maybe Mr. Brown was still there.

    

    We moved in the winter

    to this neat little house

    the last little house in the square.

    It was bright it was clean ,no rat trace or mouse

    but old Mr Brown was still there.

    

    They had moved to the house

    many years ago

    a war widow was mum's aunty Claire.

    And I can't help wondering did she know

    that old Mr.Brown was still there.

    

    He wasn't that scary

    as bogey men go.

    A shadow, a creek on the stair,

    a shudder of cold to let every one know

    that old Mr. Brown was still there.

    

    I thought that I saw him  

    on my way to school

    I turned back to the window to stare.

    My sister thought me some kind of fool

    but I knew Mr. Brown was still there.

    

    I went back to the house

    some years ago,

    to the neat little house in the square.

    But I didn't ask ,I did not want to know

    if old Mr Brown was still there.