Ties

My father’s tie,
broad blue stripes,
100% man
made,
not natural
to touch,
ties a sensible
knot
at my throat,
not like we
wore at school,
refusing to sit
straight.

‘Take it from me,’
he offers,
a gift, unable
to leave me
wanting
for a lack of
ties.

The tie
that binds
won’t take no
for an answer.

Posted in Poetry.

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