he died, sixty-one,

heart attack, bang, gone

I was thirty-six when he

made this swift departure,

and I realise that I have

lived longer without him

in my life than with him,

at that time I was a man

busy with work and family

never finding much time for

father and son matters,

I kissed him as he lie there 

still in his own bed, knowing 

that I hadn’t kissed him 

since I was old enough to 

be embarrassed by doing so,

I slid my hand under the 

bedcovers to hold his hand

and could feel his wristwatch

still ticking which in the

absence sensible thought 

surprised me, thinking it would 

have stopped ticking at the 

same time as his heart

I am now seventy-three and 

occasionally contemplate 

that when I die I will look

considerably older than he 

ever did, 

 

© (from ‘Kin’ a collection 

by Graham Sherwood 2023)