Fokkina McDonnell’s post on her ever-fabulous blog today – here – prompted me to dig out this poem, from The Evening Entertainment:
BRITISH SUMMER TIME’S END
As Dad lolls down in the care-home armchair,
cleft double chin almost touching his shirt,
I ease him upright and, for what it’s worth,
unstrap his watch to wind it back an hour:
that Dad no longer knows the day, the month
or year is probably neither here nor there.
An un-drunk milky tea squats on a plate.
‘I was a crack shot; especially at
the Bren, but it was much too accurate.’
By night, he gets half-dressed for going out:
‘To interrogate a Russian spy, caught
red-handed with a nuclear secret.’
I ask him if he’ll eat his slice of cake.
‘I’m off to the school to teach them to waltz.’
The lead clinician laughs for laughter’s sake.
The clocks going back
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Responses
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Love this piece. So poignant H
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A strong and memorable poem. Thank you for the link!
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Thanks, Fokkina – thanks for your lovely poem – it’s hard so write to well as you do about time -and the prompt.
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Love this poem and delighted to read Fokkina’s. Thanks, Matthew.
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Thanks, Lizzie.
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I like this poem very much. Took me a while to work out who was the author! 🙂
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Thank you, Nell!
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