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.
and flowers – gerberas and azaleas
long hauls with logs
the sweet smell of pipe tobacco
castor oil, cassata,
grease on overalls,
paper hats, sparks from grinders
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