A month before he died my grandfather
ate lamb chops. Long past the point
at which politeness matters, he picked
up the pieces with his fingers, gnawing
frantically down to the bone, determined
to get at whatever was left. And as
he lay later in his hospital bed he said
it was the happiest he’d ever been.
If only we could all receive gifts like these –
going to the unknown with only the bones;
no hint of unfinished meat; a life consumed
with gusto, its flavour truly savoured.
I tried my best to not be late.
I locked the door and shut the gate.
I jogged along then caught the bus
with minimal amounts of fuss.
My tardiness, in times gone by,
had rendered me a flaky guy;
I checked my wrist and gave a smirk –
for once I wasn’t late to work.
I sauntered at a languid pace
with smugness etched upon my face.
My boss, however, docked my pay –
the clocks went forward yesterday.
TOWERS
My grandpa
used to build towers
in the living room.
Stacking the bricks
on top of each other,
I’d implore him
to make it go higher
and higher.
My brother said
he cheated,
because the tower
was on a table;
all that mattered to me
was that it touched
the ceiling.
 |
| me and my grandpa, with one of his towers, circa 1990 |
Through bombed out streets,
across rickety bridges,
we carry our cats and dogs
like crosses, some held aloft
in cardboard boxes, others
wrapped in scarves and coats.
As we pick out our way
through the debris and smoke
we cling on to them
and clasp them close,
knowing we’d no more
leave them behind than
our own children.
Their breath, their hearts –
they’re part of us, for as long
as there are cats and dogs
there’s still much more
that’s right than wrong.
I hold you tight to me.
What else can I do
when enemies seep up
through the floorboards
and those cups lie
unclean in the kitchen?
Is this mess of our making?
I curve you to me
like a question mark
and try to breathe
as you lie unanswered.
We’re suspended –
any second from now
the moon will start falling