Photo of my Father at Twenty-Three

So many things I wanted to ask you – like

who all those people are in your wedding photo...
who’s the woman with the fruit bowl on her head...
and the kid, picking his nose – big style?

What were all the medals for...on your lapel,
and your sleeve?

What colour were the flowers in Mum’s bouquet,
and did you really only have 48 hours leave
to tie the knot?

And. if you knew how hard it was...each minute – day,
week – year, seeing you, slip further, and further away;

feeding you with a spoon – wiping your chin as you dribble?

Watching you watching me, as if I was a stranger, each time
I come to visit; and when I leave, shaking my hand,
saying it’s been nice to meet me...

and you hope we’d meet again, and I hope so, Dad...
with every bone in my body, and with every mote of dust –
falls, so silently behind these walls...I pray
to god we do.

Want to know, just how I’m supposed to cope...
closing my eyes, metaphorically speaking, helping you
with your trousers when you need to take a leak...

ask, how the hell he did it – the man became a father
to the woman he married, and how does their daughter
become his mother, too?