Dad’s Things

I

The rack of shirts you gave up wearing
When your life entered that final phase
Dulled by pain, and hard of hearing
In a cardigan with gravy stains

Your cufflinks, ties and suit and watch
Lie forgotten, lifeless, in the gloom
I can almost feel their haunting stop
Now that their host has left the room

The bathroom shelf and bedside table
Are littered with prescripted drugs
Instructions printed on their labels
Never did amount to much

Not all the pills in all the jars
Nor all the aids in foiled packs
Could ever cure that one malaise
That mum was never coming back

And neither would you e’er return
To the life you built from scratch together
Moderately happy, justly earned
But when it passed, it passed forever

Condemned to twilight on your own
You shuffled daily in her wake
The walls and bed as cold as stone
A spell you begged the world to break

Now all I feel is your relief
As I draw the blinds and let the sun
Anaesthetise the air of grief
It’s over now. Your pain is done.

II

But dad you should have realised
It didn’t need to end like this
Remove those pennies from your eyes
And see the riches that you missed

The family that you made with mum
It wound up being quite a brood
There’s solace in continuum
But instead you turned to solitude

To be fair, this fate was ready-sown
It cursed most of the men your age
You lived as if by bread alone
And ended up suppressing rage

Even I, your son, can scarce explain
The paradox of your generation
Providers all, but prone to feign
The true rewards of procreation

They can’t be found in earthly things
Nor even in social consent
You laboured hard to give us wings
But never wondered what it meant

Nor once betrayed even a look
That might convey you loved us yet
The commitment that you undertook
Eschewed such sissy sentiment

And as for God and all that stuff
About beauty, truth, and why we’re here
Blokes like you worked hard enough
Without the need for guilt and fear

I moved, and into manhood grew
And learned to ditch the flaws you had
And though imperfect, just like you
I’m still your son. You’re still my dad.

III

‘What’s it all about,’ you cried
Into the unforgiving void
A final plea to coincide
With seeing everything destroyed

Godless, lifeless, a world bereft
Even before I came to clear
The few possessions that you left
And sadly make them disappear

The plates, the glasses, pots and pans
Your chairs and tables, TV set
Cupboards cleared of jars and cans
Not really caring where they went

And soon this house will be renewed
By people who, just like us
Can’t help but with the dream collude
I wish them well, ’twas ever thus.

You and I, we reconciled
At least as much as time allowed
I moved back in to nurse you while
You curled up underneath the shroud

They were a gift, those precious weeks
I pity those who never could
We raised a toast to final drinks
Like every father and son should.

And so, at last, I close the door
While time refuses to stand still
I leave with this, and nothing more:
I love you, dad. And always will.