I remember the death of my grandfather
My head filled out the spoken words
There a man stretched out, sublime,
In an upstairs bedroom room,
Unable to breath, doctor called,
His family standing at his side.
This was 1957, I was five.
My father had gone to be with
A father he both loved
And feared, felt tenderness for
and pitied.

I stayed with my mother,
Saying "just because
I do not cry Mummy does not mean
I am not sad."
With my small child's hands
I made her a cup of tea.

Grandfather was a rough, tough
Man,
Always impeccably dressed
In white shirt and a tie,
He threw his dinners at the wall
Collected greyhounds
And raced them at the White City
They all died, all six.
Gave me a shiny half- crown piece
At every visit and a razored kiss,
He was a lamplighter, fifty- six.

I loved him
In a child's simple way
Knew his heart loved
But life was tough.
My father spoke kindly of him
"Poor burger" my grandfather said
When my father took on a mortgage.
Poor ******.

Love Mary x