Birthday Boy

Birthday Boy

He took me a little by surprise,

Taking the seat nearest to her,

They were, with her High-seat,

more or less level;

just two chair arms apart, so close

He had only to lean slightly to reach

her hand’s blue-black mottling;

in mind, and then aloud, to stay

a tear, I said “Mum! ya gonna

have to cut back on the Bilberry

picking!” pointing to the back of

her hand and mine, so she could

understand the inane attempt of

a floundering son to lighten the

moment.

The curtains then peeled back

For the show to start, a steep

bank covered in Bilberries,

which were picked delicately,

by three Terriers, soon sporting

mauve beards;

Then ‘show over’

bellowed in our collective thoughts,

And all smiles waned, it wasn’t too

Sad, for they were forced anyway.

I saw my father on his 90th birthday,

sat smiling at her, hand upon hers,

Every once in a while, he’d wake her

With a gentle tightening of his  grip,

So he could see her green eyes

So she knew of love still.