Dad

Old photographers never die, eh...
They just go out of focus.

Teachers on breath and signalling
with 'Castella Classic' smoke,
how does
the weary world look
through your magnifying glass?

Bull-dog boned and Peter Blake bearded
with a monumental belly charting mountains
of experience, you still come up short, though,
With each birthday, blowing breath
Each death of a candled-cake flame.

The day again born with the moon 'on a loop'
Does it still seem brilliant in all its beginnings
to you?

Knee-high memories chase me like a sharp boomerang
Pull at me like caught kite strings.