Ode on a good father, North London, 1933

He had an anchor sketched on his forearm and

a bust of Churchill, much later, on the dresser.

He told tales in Cockney of

building coal fires and wood. He read

the Financial Times 

when we had a free press, befores peoples 

talked in cliches and soundbites.

After the great evacuation he

crossed Wales in the dark to

visit us in a little old house on the beach.

He kept apples in the garden shed next

to the outdoor closet.

Brave man, returned, from Ypres.

Could have been in the RAF or the engineers.

He didn't talk much.

Now his son, retired surgeon, works in wood, diligently.