The Times They Are A Changing (I.P.)

The Times They Are A Changing...

We were together in so many...zapping midges
on a picnic by the lake. Me, in a brand
spanking-new uniform, hanging on to your hand
at the infant school gates...

straddling a stile at the top of a hill, when you spoke
of a myriad of things – Darwin and the origin
of man, of life on Mars, and of insects,
crawling on stones.

You waxed lyrical about black-holes...
why the sky is blue, how to tell a toadstool
from a mushroom; what fairy rings are...

of solar winds
of ice-caps
and shooting stars,
and how your dad
and you hunted for snails
in your own backyard,
and how he cooked
then ate them.

Of Ronnie Biggs – of Jackie Onassis;
where you were, what you were doing
when news broke that Kennedy was dead.

Hungry to learn then, I was.
Excited by that pink hula-hoop of a thing
we call the world – head spinning, ear
down to the rail, hearing it zing
before the train arrived.

Then, you flew a kite – I broke the string
to set it free, until it tangled in a tree.
I burst into tears and you dried them
with your sleeve, and on the way home
it snowed, and I was the warmest
I had ever been. Trouble is,

seems it’s been snowing ever since.
How then, can I stand at your grave, tell you
‘Rest in Peace’, when I want to see you wear
your brown tweed cap, smoke your tobacco...
drink a cup of your favourite coffee...

Have you sit me on your knee – tell me
stories of happy-ever-afters; no –
don’t want to hear no once-upon-a-times,
because I want you back, right here, right now.