Sunday is the big day.
Father will travel the thirty miles
And come home over the bridge
He'll wait outside the chapel
And we'll have sweets
And look around Woolworths
Mother will make the big lunch
And like a family, we'll sit and talk and eat
There's wine too, which we can sip
Sometimes after, sometimes before
There's the park - and the parking
Where we walk our path. Different now.
This has been the way for a while
Sunday is now the big day
Only because it's the only day left.
Something has been boiled down to this
Some would say distilled.
Father would say sacrificed
The big day ends clumsily
The bedtime scene prolonged
Father and mother talk in the hall
Discussing the next visit
Before the thirty mile trip, away
And home over the bridge