Such love. Such gentleness. Such care.
You gave these things to me
in all those bygone days when I
was just a just a juvenile. Unaware
of what I had within my life –
of what you gave and introduced;
like handfuls of shiny half-crowns
that could have bought me the moon
had I stored them for later use,
had I cherished them for the thought
behind your heartfelt deed of giving.
Such softness as your fingers
interleaved and slid through mine,
carefully, oh so carefully, cleaning
away the mucky childhood stains
on the wooden draining board of care,
beside the boiler that gasped for air
and spluttered gaseous metaphors
of all the things you were healing
and smoothing away with Knight’s Castile –
the things that burped and interrupted
the smooth joy you wanted to instill
for ever into my cherished life.
© Allen Ansell 2022