The wireless was on in the dark room behind us,
French windows open to the summer sun.
Sitting on the step in the neat back garden,
We hardly heard the anxious voice from London.
‘Give it all up for love’ I thought he said.
My mother sighed.
I bounced my ball into my father’s cup.
It floated there, the concrete splashed with tea.
He swore under his breath, his deckchair creaked.
He threw it back, concealing irritation.
Trying not to laugh, I caught it, dripping wet,
Just as the King announced his abdication.