My memories sit stacked
like suitcases of clothes all packed
and waiting on the tar
-mac ready to be tossed on board
the plane and sent afar.
Or left behind, a handler’s hoard.
A few I thought were lost can still be tracked
by pictures taken, incomplete and cracked.

I dream of times long past:
a girl adored, but I was cast
aside - it close to broke
me then, it took five years until,
my Juliet awoke
my bliss, but now she too is still.
We'd lost our daughter too, were left aghast.
I dream of joy, with loss a dark contrast.

My life is full of chairs,
yet some are empty, crave repairs.
My closest friends still fill
the rest, a temporary gift.
Compassion, but they still
can't mend the rent, I’m left adrift.
And when they leave, in single or in pairs,
my dream that those now dead are here ... despairs
 

                                   7 February 2024