Saturday, 30 June 2018

before he was my father my father was

before he was my father 
  my father was 


the man with the fag;
  in the desert with a fag;
in the war.

the man with david niven moustache,
  and tight curly hair;
in his uniform. 

in the war he was a man;
  a young man;
away from home.

in the war he was tough;
  him and his oppo;
tough in Cairo.

at home my mum
  sent the telegrams;
missing you.

at home my mum,
  remembers when they met;
missing those smiles.

in the photographs;
  jack the lad;
he knew.

in the photographs;
  the looks,
you know.

with his brothers,
  in their suits;
posing for the photograph.

with his brothers,
  in their uniforms;
posing for the photograph.

down the pub,
  lifting a pint,
over a hand of cards.

down the pub,
   between youth and manhood,
on her hand a ring.

my mum;
  in his eyes;
always.

my mum;
  he was in her eyes;
always.

that’s all he was,
  before he was
my dad.

that’s all he was,
  before i was his son.
now he is

my dad.
  sad isn’t it?
he was his.

my dad.
 sad isn’t it?
now he’s my dad.

so where is he, was he?
  my dad.
here or there?

where was he is he?
  my dad.
did he make it home?

i have him at home;
  but did he make it home?
what does he think?

he has me at home;
  but has he made it home?
what do you think?


  

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