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For SJB, who discovered peace too late
Current mood:  thankful
I don't miss my dad
I have always missed my dad
he left when I was 18 months old
and he's left me now
for good
these things loop and deafen
but no-one else on this train hears them:
the teenager watching clips
on a state-of-the-art laptop
of long haired kids crashing snowboards
the self-important suit on his mobile
telling the whole carriage about how he revamped the whole department
and how firing people doesn't bother him at all
the mother literally growling at her little girl
to shut up shut up
for daring to ask where are we going
nobody seems to look out of train windows anymore
I look out of the window
rabbits chase through oceans of grass
a small deer
beautiful and poised against the slate of the sky
stops to watch us pass
only I see her
and I am grateful
faded green countryside turns to the hard greys and maroons
of railway terraces
a woman smokes a cigarette and waits
by the closed gates of the crossing
with belligerent watchfulness
a dog digs a hole to bury some secret treasure
a boy shoots hoops alone in a back garden
1 journey
3 trains
2 platforms
1 taxi ride
and nobody sits next to me
or says a word
avoiding me and my suit and black tie
thinking me a Jonah
an omen
or a gangster
outside his house the mourners mill around
litanies and condolences become mantras
that hang on the mist
lifeless above us
but nobody says he never relaxed
or that he scared my whole family
and once threw my uncle down the stairs
and I hardly know anyone
and hardly anyone knows me
I'm the eldest of his 5 children
but I wonder if I belong
and how much weight my goodbye can carry
if I never really said hello
I stand to one side until the car is ready
my face dispassionate
a study in blankness
it's half an hour to the burial ground
we turn into a drive-through
and I hear them before I see them
50 or 60 bikes join the cortege
choppers and Harleys
Nortons and all kinds of
death wish freedom machines
fall in behind
and leading the hearse
dad's white bike
with black ribbon on the handlebars
charging forwards
into the solemn last ride
and I remember the biker epitaph
May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
and every junction
every slip road
every roundabout
is blocked by the Barrel Bikers
and the Tribal Gypsies
helmet-less as a mark of respect
the cars stop
people by the roadside stop
and take pictures on their mobiles
and I look out of the window
tears on my mask
loss on my face at last
the vicar explains
Steve was a complex man
and will be sadly missed
by all who knew him
his partner
his mother
the kids he taught karate
the bikers
but especially his 4 children
Thomas
Rebecca
Christiana
and Isaac
somebody forgot to mention me
but grandma always told me
when he asked how I was doing
I know he thought of me
and for that much I'm grateful
and on the hill as the ribbons slacken
and one hole fills
and another remains open
I think of our one real conversation
when we spoke of our dreams
when I said I wanted to drive across America
in a Dodge Viper and he said I did that
but it was a Vauxhall Viva
and I think of him telling me he always loved me
and watching to see how I took the news
and I remember explaining his absence
to kids who asked at primary school
by saying my dad was killed in the war
and he was
it was the war of himself
full of anger
and fighting against the mirror
he was never close to anyone
because he wasn't close to himself
he was loved by many
because he tried so hard to be all things to all men
he cast a long shadow
but never his own
1:13 PM
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