Dad would drink tea from bone china, And the pot had to be warmed, He was a ritual obsessive. Mum would routinely wake at six, To set the table for half past. Dad would limp to the bathroom He went in grey And came out shiny black. I would stare at him shaving, Listen to him humming Always the same tune depending on the day, Yet it never annoyed me. He would always kiss me, One of those lingering pressed kinds of kisses, That would make you curl and flounder. After Dad had to leave, The kisses would stop, And a new man would hum, And if I mentioned his name I would upset my Mum. Three days before my graduation, I had heard my Father had died, He had not shaved for years, And his eyes looked forlorn and tired, But I made sure he was buried in polished shoes.