Again I leave the ward and look out through
the windscreen at the bluebells on the grass,
again see Sister’s eyes. She’d thought I knew
that if you went home it would be to pass
your last few weeks with him. It would be sad
to separate them, she said in that glass
cubicle with its desk and stubby pad
of death certificates. It would be cruel
too, hopeless as he seems to have been, Dad,
at coping as she put it. But you, you’ll …
won’t you? I’ll what? I nodded though. Yes, I …
Bluebells like bluebells in the woods at school.
And then from Fratton Park a massive sigh
filling the clouds and draining down the sky.
