Birthday Cake
in memoriam John Edward Cole
Ninety one; if it were candles
We couldn't picture them,
Your cake would last for weeks.
You moved through days racked up as history:
Huge wars, new bombs and ways to talk -
Nerves and confusion tainting the map.
You made ninety but there wasn't cake.
Late seventies you thought you were -
Not stolen but rearranged.
Brothers and sisters back from the dead.
When mum walked out it broke my heart;
She was scattered in the garden all along.
My expectations were spinning plates.
Each conversation was a slightly different man,
Baking cakes in my head until the news came.
Ninety one; if it were candles
We couldn't picture them,
Your cake would last for weeks.
You moved through days racked up as history:
Huge wars, new bombs and ways to talk -
Nerves and confusion tainting the map.
You made ninety but there wasn't cake.
Late seventies you thought you were -
Not stolen but rearranged.
Brothers and sisters back from the dead.
When mum walked out it broke my heart;
She was scattered in the garden all along.
My expectations were spinning plates.
Each conversation was a slightly different man,
Baking cakes in my head until the news came.
Comments
Post a Comment