How I Remember Him (Poetry)

He’s safe. He’s safe and warm in memory.
He sits shirt-sleeved on that old worn settee
and reads his paper, drinks his cup of tea
ignores the too-loud thundering TV

heard half-way down the avenue. He’s deaf
and rarely well — too often out of breath.
The pills he takes all lined up in a row
to keep him ticking over — calm but slow.

It’s ages since the last time he went out
his feet too swollen now to get about.
Behind his glasses, owlishly he blinks
and, lids grown heavy, snatches forty winks.

Unnumbered days, identical they come
interrupted by those visitors struck dumb
for conversation cannot keep its hold
once all the news in detail has been told.

They sit uncertain in the small room’s fug
observe the dust and feel soft pity’s tug.
What can be said to ease the awkward way
when health declines and age is on display?

Gone years ago but safe in memory
I have his genes, so he is part of me
and love allows him my affection still.
I visit him in dreams and always will.