“Hello old friend” I was greeted
fear fastened fast, hand to heart.
“I always thought we would meet again”
sinking, cold, tired and scared.
The smell of him came back to my nostrils,
from those white walls and those plastic curtains.
We had met twice before
he came for dad when he was fifty two
took his hand, dad tried to snatch away
a struggle ensued, an unpleasant fight but in
the end they went to Saffron Hill.
My mum he met late in life
he was polite, she had no energy or will to decline
hand in hand rapidly and almost painlessly
to the family plot.
Now he knocks on my door
I look the other way, try to ignore
point him to my neighbours
he’s made a mistake
but he seems so sure.