The Long Way Home

She would be waiting at the door
like a child for the ice-cream van.
Every Saturday, round two o’clock,
we took a drive across the fields
through the village she grew up in.
Past the house where she still lived,
till recently, that is. Now, she’s frail,
can’t cope on her own, not any more.
An old folk’s home the perfect answer.

One Saturday, she was subdued, more so
than usual. She said she was okay, but
seemed vacant, not in this world. “Here,
how about a song, Mum?” I say.
“What about, ‘We’ll Gather Lilacs?
Your favourite, is it not?” Knowing it was.
She tells me, “Stop the car! Nice of you
to take me for a drive. Haven’t we met
somewhere before? And please …
couldn’t we take the long way home?”