Joe Poem by GRANT FRASER

Hey Joe hadn't long
retired, and then his
wife died,

well what do you do...

I see him here and there,
those tinged red eye blossoms
with too much crying,

I say
'how are you? ',

gritting
the words somewhat,

I don't know exactly what to
say next though...

I hear him, but there's an awkwardness
blotting it out,

so I say things like -
'you should get
some new hobbies...',

'well my knees aren't so good now...'
he strains,

'so how long did you post? '

'Forty years, and married forty six....

(inwardly) but I don't know Joe,
I don't know about death,
yet - no...

it's getting closer, and I can't vouch
for anything or anyone,

the seconds collect and won't stop,
here's a pound of meat!
all this, it's all they see,
we work it all away....

next thing your dead, or somebody else
is,

Joe I do feel it, you set the plan,
it's all yours,

'I'm getting a new kitchen anyway,
myself and the wife, were in the process,
while she was alive,
and then, ye know...'

and squints back into old places,
then into clouds, and even further
away than I can see,

it's so far, it's only a matter of time...

'anyway, nice to see you...'

'today I'm meeting Big John, he's retired
now too,
we meet up along the coast,
go for walks, ye know it's something to do...

Ok! Joe, see you later! ,

as I literally run the other way,
into the face of my own dim clock - ticking!