His face is full of lines.
He says a line,
as he frowns, down towards the podium.
His voice, meek and mousy
“I am deeply sorry.”
Not sorry enough to have brushed his hair,
because the cringe dad brand comes before all else.
Not sorry enough to have halted the brakes on the big summer of spending,
or the repeat of it during the winter.
Not sorry enough to have held up his hands days before,
“Enough is enough.”
One hundred thousand is enough,
but ninety nine thousand wasn’t,
One is enough for most people.
One voice that fades a little more each day.
One smile that they pray they’ll never forget.
One part of their heart that is now just a memory, and a grave they visit every now and again (lockdown rules permitting).
One person, that they loved, who is gone.
One person, that they loved, who can’t return, even if the prime minister is deeply sorry.