The Overcoat

the empty overcoat
hung in the hallway
the threads just still
from a sudden walk,

the dead parent perfume
of jasmine laced tobacco
piled in the beggar's bowl,

a smokers unlit pyre cold
a box of lucifers unstruck
a leather pouch half-packed,

the empty overcoat
waited his perpetual fit
the loose sleeves wasted
on life's heavy cuffs,

the curled lapel still grew
a red poppy of faded paper
from a brushed landscape,

a collar turned against winter
a ripped pocket slipped agape
a torn button hole repaired,

the empty overcoat
haunted the cloakroom
a bent shadow hanging
a father's shape off the peg
waiting for a son to wear.


John G.Hall(C)2005