Neither of Them Spoke
Neither of them spoke or ever dreamed This was the last they were to see of him Who didn't wind the window down Or wave or even turn his head But leant a little forward, showed His new watch to the driver, sat back Smiling (no, how could he?) to himself, An unslung satchel cradled on his lap With diary, pencil case and playing cards Strapped in and tightly buckled, then The car drove off, and still He would not turn, but neither said a word Because it wasn't done, though later (Three weeks into term to be exact) His mother gripped the telephone, cried out And tried to speak, her husband Leaning forward, holding her, A firm hand on each shoulder as she sat back Rigid in the chair, not even turning As he went to close the door to be alone together
John Mole
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