My Father at the Bone Factory

He works making bones for the ones who need them:
a set for the woman whose husband has been MIA for three years;
Here’s what we can offer now.
A parcel for the parents of a teenage runaway
who’ve quit their jobs, their friends, their evening
cuddle; this to bury or turn into ash and blow away.
At the end of his shift last night - he was in a giddy mood-
he made one finger bone and whittled it into a flute
for the little one who plays at the park between the factory
and home. Here he said it’s a gift.