He sits alone
All day
Three feet
From the Movie Channel
Sometimes
It drives him mad
He dislikes
what he calls
the black nurse
In the day centre
And mimics him
Clapping his hands
“very good, very good Paddy
now lift your left leg”
The only orders this old man could ever follow
Were those
for the pints and the chasers
Down Parkgate street
During his meticulous years
That man could move then
He leans forward
As if I’m deaf
“That home help
is absolutely useless”
He repeats over and over
Another non tip
Smoulders to it’s stinking end
How’s the boy he asks for the third time
Fine I answer very time
And “how’s that fella what’s ‘is name”
Guilherme, Dad, Guilherme
He’s gone back to Portugal
I told you last month
He gazes back at the monochrome Shirley Temple
And sees her for the first time again
Lights another cigarette
with all his might
Would you like a cup of tea Dad?
His eyes move to the window for a weather check
“Wouldn’t mind a pint” he muses with another deep pull of the blue haze
Would you like to go out?
“I’d love to go out”
He replies first with his eyes
Right then
Just let me water those Blooms