Forty-nine years a husband,
Collar and tie, best suited,
Sits in the hospice
Holding hands with his wife
On her last New Year’s Eve,
Sees nothing but her face,
Feels nothing but her hand
Curled up inside his
And is back at The Grafton,
Pay-day, his black curls DA’d
Get some ale down yer neck
Don’t fancy yours mate
Yer wearin’ that shirt for a bet
Met and were wed in three months
So everyone thought…
But they were wrong,
The two kids came later
And then he’s back
To just three months ago
When they tell him
Your wife’s terminal
And is back to
After the funeral
Where his daughter holds herself steady
Like a newly fledged angel,
Steers him come on Dad
Through his own house while
Her was never there brother
Explains that Life must go on
Kevin Patrick McCann
Photo christer strömholm