Poem: Quick Fix

My dad rang to say they’d be on their way down to fix the drier-door. He’d found a new one for only a hundred bucks and he’d finished all his other jobs so the four-hour drive to stay the night was a good way to fill in a Monday, they’d bring tea as well…

They arrived when they did. Him and my mum. They unloaded the truck – a ritual. The bag with condime…