Journey through my father

It’s a strange time to fade away
Just as the yellow fists are pushing through

Memories, locked in the blood, are reviving
Just like you – your stubborness

You were never one for beauty
You chose a dull street in a red-brick town

The seasons there were merely endured
You trudged to the shops in your brown coat

You were the king of the masculine world
Of cold that locks the fingers. Stoical

Of cars that did not start, of rust, and shelves
Summer chases the winter ghosts

You will not see it. Your mind is gone
The dull houses, the dark canal, by the pub yard

I sit on a wall, with the sun on my back
Watching the daffodils break the soil