Tying up loose ends, you said
All crow’s feet and beak. A confiding bird
Perched by your desk pecking
At the keyboard when I walked in.
That smile still startles I swear it’s you
Spin sad to find myself window shopping for one not two.
The harvest of a lifetime. Paper bales laced up tight
Treasury tags. Twin bars bright
Conjoined. Green twine. The ties that bind.
It’s all here, you said. Hand atop the sheaf
Palm down, an oath. No testament, your will:
Accounts.
Policies.
Pensions.
And a note for your mum so she’ll know what to do.
Thank heavens for paperclips and staples, you said.
Coming round. Post stroke words.
The cubicle reflating. Breath held now out
Laughing as you confuse a comb for half a crown.
Ends frayed but held.
Your brain rewired. Wild hair combed.
Forward to post decimalisation.
Ten more years. I wondered how many times you subbed your copy.
Newspaperman to newspaperman
Before I wrote your obituary perched at your desk
In your study. Your hand writing.
The letter to mum. For Sheila: to be opened when I’m gone.
And two smiles becoming one.