Go On My Son

Explanatory Note -

Tommy Farr was a great Welsh boxer of the 1930s. 'Home' is in
Essex.

Go On My Son

I'm home for the day,
Home for my birthday.
Watching the telly,
Smiling and chatting;
Watching Tommy Farr,
Shuffling and jabbing.
Watching Tommy Farr,
Watching with my father.

A haven from our rows about politics.
Dad remembers him, though I'm the more nostalgic,
(Ostensibly at least) -
For this walking coalmine of a man.

My mother thinks boxing stupid and cruel,
And retires to bed with a clip of sarcasm.
The male bond buckles,
We both agree;
In our different ways.
We have respect,
For a people's hero.
(Not words my dad would choose),
Heart and hand matched with honour.

We know that Ali
Would have danced rings round Tommy,
What now does Tommy see - Joe Louis?
As he slowly boxes round his room and photos.

The man's no brain-pulped laughing stock,
Playing his old records.
He sang well, sings well even now.
True voice of the valleys.

After the programme, my dad
Joins my mum upstairs.
Leaving me and full-stomached melancholy.

Later the phone rings, my mother hears.
It's my sister Jane, to say she's safe;
Having left our home's dry tears,
Today, for the arms of someone else.
My little sister...
I held her then, like I want to hold her now.
Now
Now she'll be photographs for the most part.
Death seems to have made undue progress
In the last hour or so,
As the clock ticks and family faces at their best
Smile at each other from the walls and mantelpiece.

I sense a rapprochement with my father.
As if I could live at home,
With Dad the Volcano!
I kiss Jane's face goodnight,
Absences appear in the future.

I touched my mother when she cried today.
I turn off the lights
And join the separation of the family sleep.
Though not before looking at the rainbow-rimmed moon,
Through the laser vision glasses
I brought home for my family to see.

The lamppost outside my bedroom
Never shone like this before.
There are lights in my school
At the top of our hill,
But too far away for my glasses to change.
Now only my smallest sister remains
To carry on my mother's business.
Are all those cold market mornings
Doomed to remain in one generation?
Alone in our memories,
Tommy boxes, shadow boxes,
Shadows on the wall.

Date mostly written: 1984