Father
do not be unwell.
Please remain a voice by my ear,
rambling about the weather.

I should tell you how much I love to hear you talk in careful detail
about the wind and the rain and the sun,
and your perpetual battles in the garden.
The blasted cats.
The council cutting down the trees.
It's always colder up north.
I should tell you how much I love you.

I wish you were brewing the morning cup of tea,
dressed ready for your jog around the park.
I wish we were listening to the shipping forecast in a rain-drummed tent.

To my shame you carried me, a grown man broken as a child,
and I wish, just once, I'd done that for you.


I want to carry you now.
Let me take the weight.

Old man - 
do not ever be gone.
Tell me more about your parents,
and their parents,
the war,
my mother
and all your days together.

There is a debt that could never be repaid,
that you will never count as debt.

There is a value that cannot be measured,
defies price,
and there is a cheapness in death
and a defect in life.

Death is not befitting.

But you, I know, will not be drawn to such bitterness or futile sorrow

Dad,
I love you.