For My Dad.

My dad

He stands with his hands on his hips

He’s slightly stooped

He coughs from the coal dust of many years ago

Thin and grey now

But I remember a tall middle aged man

Who would sit me on his lap and let me stroke his fine black hair

Already starting to grey a little by the time I was born

That’s my dad

A great grand father

Like his clock

Tall but slightly battered through travels of many countries

But now my dad has Parkinson’s his hands wobble

He has trouble moving

His clock a great, great grandfather of a clock will outlast him

Like it has other generations of our family