When we go to the hospital by taxi, my dad sits in the front - he enjoys chatting to the taxi driver -
He will admire the view from the top of Portsdown Hill -
There, below us, lies the harbour - I can see its winding channels and mothballed destroyers -
There's the city, where my dad spent his childhood - he can remember the bombs falling upon the narrow streets -
Now, he's talking to our driver - the man tells us he comes from Afghanistan -
We lost my brother - he was working for a German company - he was driving in his car - they shot him, the Taliban -
The driver glances up into the rear view mirror of the red Aqua car -
They said we were spies - yes, it is good here - but, you know - home -
Soon, we're stopping at the main entrance to the hospital -
My dad's digging his hands into his pockets to find some money -
10.23
June 8 2014
Havant
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