And, But

And last year when we took the boat across the fens
In a downpour
With you saying "It'll be all right"
As you always say. And me saying "But" as usual
"But we'll never get under that bridge"
And I had you unscrewing everything from the roof
While I ran off in the mud with a tape measure.

And you blowing the sawdust from a just-drilled offcut
In the darkness of your garage
Chisels hanging like cold church pipes;
Dusty tubs and plastic pill bottles filled
With screws and nails and fiddly little electrical connectors
I could never imagine a use for.
It's like Satan's pharmacy, 1950.

And I watched from the bed, with a weight inside me
As you walked away into the bleak hospital corridor
Turned and waved
Once. And faded to halogen evening.
I wonder if you felt the same
When our roles were reversed.

And while our ghosts
Flit and stay optimistic
Our machines give them up
Blow them away like sawdust.

And seeing it is as hard as being it.

But we got under that bridge
Easy.