#2,533 I met Simon

I met Simon – him on his
sticks – surviving – age’s
slow game scarred him –
his skin paring – blisters
& welts split his cheeks

He was now moving on
to a sheltered home – &
nearer to his son – now –
he lived all alone [he’ll
pass soon – left unsaid]

& his grip & touch warm
in mine [roughness] by
working at things to fix –
a marriage & life’s tricks
had laid furrowed scars

Now his auld home will
be stripped back to less
of what it was – there is
inevitability – fed upon
by profit-eager harpies

[& commission-hungry
agents] – a life cubed in
piled cardboard boxes –
with destination labels
of ‘recycle’ or ‘charity’ –

& ‘KEEP’ is all he has to
cement him to his years
of brick-sat dignity – his
garden & garage – [links
to his just-passed love]