I see him absent

watching his memories.

The emptiness of war struggles to take hold

but is defeated by gratitude

for being a ‘lucky bloke’ selected to live.

The Falcon

and flowers – gerberas and azaleas

long hauls with logs

the sweet smell of pipe tobacco

and peppermints

castor oil, cassata,

grease on overalls,

freesias

fishing rods,

paper hats, sparks from grinders

and welders

slippers,

and Christmas pudding.

Holidays on the sand in the van with his sweetheart

where reflections of sunset walks become knitted into blankets which

are used to smother the excruciating

loneliness.