Thursday, 11 May 2017

Good Boys


As the candle of his mind slowly melted,
the truth shone in sangfroid.

Alone in the nursing home's crowded noise,
an armchair appendage, just sitting and sitting.

His bemused eyes radar-scanning in waves
that cancelled in resignation upon his face.

The sieve of his recent memory, irritatingly infirm,
pill-rolling the fossilised rosary of the past.

Hello Pop. Huh, replies the smile communing
longingly for the bonds of a lifetime.

Conversational blah, blah, blah, jousting
with eyes intent on platting two worlds.

Asking over and over where are the boys
now that they have grown worldwide.

When our pride replies,
his pride replies,

"good boys, good boys"
and we all agree.

Good boys, indeed they are.

We leave him scanning the scene,

before he submerges below the storm,
asleep in the deep again.

Goodbyes, goodbyes.
How they ache, bleary in salt.


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