Vincent Turner has a bin-bag of redundant teddy bears

 
A Black Bag of Redundant Teddy Bears
 

Each father’s day we’d hand to him
three cards and a Worlds Best Dad teddy bear.
An award we never believed.
It was mother fulfilling her role-
ever dutiful, eternally damned-
maybe hoping one day
he’d wake, untangled
from the nights boozy stupor
and with clear eye
suddenly decide to live true
the words bold typed across
The teddy’s tummy.
And rise from the bed
swallowing us with large
hungry arms
a happy, hairy, ogre of love.

We asked her once
whilst trawling the aisles
columned by novelty cards
why we had to buy a lie
she bit lemons
and gave us the face.
Telling us to be grateful.
To accept our lot.
That there were some little kiddies
with no dad at all.

This never made no sense.
We saw the fatherless kids in school
they bound the playground
like lambs.
Free to spend the day of their fathers
playing hide-and-seek
in the park
to then come home
embraced by a mother
unbound by the needs of a brutish drunk,
who only ever wanted her love
once she appeared to him in threes.



* Vincent Turner lives in South East
London, he is the father of two young boys and is a drug and alcohol
worker. Vincent has recently had his first chapbook
Envying Harry published by Erbacce
Press. Vincent's work as featured in undergroundvoices,
readthismagazine, Full of Crow, Shootsandvines
and the others he has
forgot.

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