Posted in Bits and Bobs, Daily Prompt

The Old Man

I vaguely remember him.

Sitting on his hard, gnarled oak chair;

Polished to perfection.

By his side, his pipe and ‘baccy tin.

No, not a tin; a pot old man,

Wearing a trilby.

I vaguely remember the clothes he was wearing;

Polished black work boots, laces ajar;

Home knitted stockings;

Tweed jacket; tweed trousers

Not matching.

Waist button undone, belt straining against

Fat stomach.

Checked shirt, worn cuffs.

Hands wrinkled and twisted;

Ruddy face;

Indoors by the fire, hat on head.

Laboured breathing;

Tired now; done for.

I vaguely remember him.

He could not remember me.




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