Picking up his cap ...

When we left, my dad put on his tweed jacket - 

He picked up his flat cap - 

He rattled the change in his pockets - 

I'll see you go he said - 

I remembered how he'd stand at the garden gate, saluting us as we drove away - 

I'd look in the rear view mirror of the red Peugeot, and see him waving - 

He'd wave until we were out of sight, smaller and smaller in the mirror - 

Now sometimes he can hardly cross the lounge - 

Please say goodbye from the front door I said -  

19.00

Sunday 4 February 2016

Staunton Road

Havant