Salt - he’s into salt this week
And farts producing foetid air
And pissing in the kitchen bin
And ‘gobbing’ in the kitchen sink
Is there no end to my disgust
It rises choking into rage
Yet he is heading into dark
The man once tenderly I loved
The man enclosing all my hope
Who loved and set me free to live
Who moved me – happy – round the earth
How can I mend this widened gap
His room – his cave – is lined with books
With newspapers in carrier bags
Withall no reading now delights
But only worries more than life
He walks – he drinks – he’s going deaf
He loses temper on the spot
Invents his history of war
Expounds to all who lend an ear
As on and on – with Hitler beat
His tanks and planes and submarines
All driven – so it seems – by him
When he was but ‘the milk round lad’
Yet deep confusions in his head
Controlled by will ‘magnificent’
Are sometimes forced to line the wall
As sympathy and need arise
Inside his eyes I see the spark
Of who he is – still fighting back
I hold my breath – try not to cry
But just admire the man he is.
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