Mothers and Fathers

We came across the holiday cottage, abandoned.

Looking in windows, it’s very inviting.

Once inside, how fascinating, looking in cupboards, an imagined life.

Dusty, empty, shell of time, adventure of another’s realm.

Little mother, little father, cubby house it seems.

Ironing board, tables and chairs, all miniature dreams.

Squeal of brakes.

Thud of feet.

Feds of reality.

Taken home, deftly bad.

Heads downturned, innocent play.

Goodnight my friend, the end of the dream.

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