Friday 6 July 2012

The Old Man


Into the bar
in an elderly shuffle
woolly hat casing his grizzled old head
A pint or a half
and a seat at the table
A smile when eyes caught
and the same conversation

Then all of a sudden we heard he was dead

The old man was gone
He would never more shuffle
except in the photograph which I once took
when he shuffled in
with his drink at the party
A man on the fringes
but eager and bright
A man out in daytime
where sociable chatter
could wash all around him
And after his drink he went home
with the ringing
of speech and of pleasure spread into his night

He's dead and he's buried
His elderly shuffle
is silenced for ever
- or so they all think

But here in the silences
listen - you'll hear him
His ghost in his warm woolly hat
shuffles past
Clutched in his hand
is another last drink
Spread from his eyes
is the need to exist

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