“Papa is
uncomfortable
in his old man shape.
Tinkering
salt cured hands
twitch for
wire to solder,
rope to lap,
metal to twist.
Papa stopped smoking.
The old pipe
stays on the bedside table, and
the greasy smell
stays in
his clothes,
his paper bag face,
his waterproof hair.
Papa
kept the sea,
sold the boat,
kept the stories,
sold the boat,
kept the sea
in a blue knit jumper
and a roving telescope –
water
trickles into the lounge room,
yachts sail past his chair.
Papa knew the man
who could swallow wine glasses,
who floated naked down the river,
who ate a car – one spoonful
at a time.
We believed his
murky eyes, his
wheezing roar.
But mum looked
Skep-tik-al.
Papa surveys the old world
From his armchair,
spinnaker set.
He doesn’t believe
in email."
