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Brother John

 

Caldey Island

Brother John
stagger to this chair
and I will entrap you
in your masquerade
as I have these twenty years
anecdotally.
Fight with these two sticks
and the anger in you
against the pain
of your swollen
hands and knees.
Plop your pear body
into this chair
and I will entrap you.
Hobble on potato feet
into this garden
of teas,
of remembrances.

I remember you
not in a Habit
but boiler-suited
rubber-booted
always angry
swearing
in your own way
with innocent words
most appropriate
for a cockney
trapped by choice
in a monk’s guise.

Twenty years I have
loved and married
fathered and fought
prospered and tired.
What do you know
more than I
squandering these same
years
in anger and in
prayer?
Do you have a place
to go
or like me
nurture futility
knowing you must fight
for life and mobility
that being all there is?

 

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