Sun drenched bungalow
Prayer books and empty bottles
Brakes of a freight train

Home from the borders
There are songs about such things
I have heard the tune

John Clugston, my jo

He'd no time for Burns
I joked, but found excuse
to mourn him in Braid Scots

He sleeps in the sun
The recycling bin is full
​Empties of a man

Bearded men in white
Say he was a gift from God
The pub sent flowers

Drunken retiree
Finds meaning in his name, John
By grace we are saved

The Royal Hotel
Broken glass in Ramadi
The phone ringing out

I resented him
Like the sun in a heatwave
Then this darkness fell


 

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Lutheran Pastor
Brings whisky and stories of
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Crates of dusty books
Cold morning with my old man
Time is a cruel mistress

Half empty glasses
Tea stains on the threadbare carpet
My father sleeping

​Prayer books have been shelved
Bottles binned, and all the trains
replaced by buses

Father's reading voice
Recalled as we climb the gully steps
On trails we once shared