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