When did I become the old man of my distant memories,

The faded photograph taken on a sunny day while standing on the front path.

The man in the corner holding a baby telling me it would be the last he’d ever get to see and hold;

And to get out there while I still can because you might just lose it overnight…

I’m not happy with this “it comes to us all” rhetoric.

For some it doesn’t and injustice seems to serve as pall bearer for their untimely demise…. he thought…

Just as the gossips at the funeral take centre stage to speculate

“Did he have a will?”

“Will she get it all?”

“Were the curtains his?