I
still have your address book
And
sometimes sit there with it
Across
my knee
And
can feel the scribbles out
Of
those who died
Or
who simply you lost contact with.
Did
you cross off Ann from Clevelands
Who
you met on holiday in Southport
Back
when you were a child
Or
Barbara who was the daughter
Of
your old teacher from school.
Michelle
from across the road
From
your old house before you moved
Or
your cousin Flo from Cornwall
Who
my mother used to go on about
All
the time after I drenched her
With
a water pistol
Mis-taking
her for my sister.
Jude,
your best friend from Woolworths
Who
wouldn’t speak to you
For
two weeks after her husband
Came
onto you and she thought it was you
Or
Mags who went off to Australia
And
promised she would write every week.
Rose
who you went to I.T. Classes
Back
when you were 65
And
kicked out the wire after 10 minutes
Or
Jack your first boyfriend
Who
you almost married twice
Only
for it all to pieces at the last minute,
Memories
I can still remember you
Shaking
your head at sometimes
As
you sat there with a pen
Looking
every inch the writer
Instead
of a random crossword scribbler
As
your pen crosses out people
Like
threads pulled out of a jumper,
Threads
which you smile at
With
a quiet satisfication
As
you whisper goodbye again.
(Day 13 asked us to go out for a walk and see what came. This came from a conversation I held between two women when one of them mentioned her mother's old address book)
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