Didn't we have a lovely time

For Grandfather Brien

Darling you are dying,
your lungs are bags in treetops,
your skin is bringing up antique bruises,
you are saying ‘didn't we have a lovely time'
on repeat,
you are saying goodbye to your boys
in tender dribbles,
remembering swimming pools
and Portugal and women like luxury soap.

You are remembering driving a car with no ceiling,
sharing a crib with your twin,
the swing of the jazz band on the back of the truck,
the way you walk into a restaurant and ask for the maître d
by first name, and by the way how was your birthday.