Rene
By tony_dee
- 583 reads
'Rene!'*
As my dad rests in his coffin, I wait
For him to half-open an angry eye.
And shout 'Leave that telly, I'm watching that.
Why don't you kids go out? It's lovely outside.
Fucking nuisance.' Then rub his nose, roll over and
fart.
My brother chucks in Jack's picture in his Spurs shirt.
Can't resist one last wind-up, though they're both Arsenal,
But not with the White Hart love my nephew and I have.
My dad's great love, in later years at least,
Was golf. We made a detour to the course
With the hearses - Tears and waves, reminisces.
There was a good turnout for the service,
With the clubhouse well represented for fat Fred.
A few of them came up to me afterwards.
'That's one of the best funerals I've ever been
to'
It was a humanist service with anecdotes,
Funny poems and much laughter in the chapel.
I stood up and gave a speech in my best Thespian -
With a jacket-covered shirt, stained from a rare nosebleed.
'The epitaph for the great architect Sir Christopher Wren,
Si Monumentum Requiris
Circumspice, 'if you would see his monument look
around', is attributed to his son.
As a builder and a man Dad leaves behind many monuments, in the hearts
of us gathered here and in the many buildings that Dad helped to
create. Our family came to Harlow forty years ago, and as one of the
early 'New Towners' Dad has played his part in helping to build this
community.
The moose is now truly loose, (a family joke) but will live in
us forever ...
Fare Thee Well
Dad always knew where he was going
Even when he didn't. Always stood his round
Of beer or golf, even full well knowing
His credit card had been cut in half. So he'd
Be working harder still to cover some
Outrageous bill, and never quite retire
To Spain. But dad brought laughter to the rain.'
Mum danced down the pub later with a friend.
Did romance ever two-step into her life?
We'd started drinking before the service,
Chatting in the garden, cans in hand.
Careful of our suits, and we still carried
The coffin straight. Ten hours later no-one
Was causing trouble - Dad was always the
Most likely suspect, provoked of course.
You could provoke him by eating cheese
In the morning. 'What you fucking eating
That for breakfast?' Or by desiring
Kippers at night, as my brother in-law
Did one jovial Christmas card-playing session.
'You ain't having no fucking kippers now.'
Came fat Fred's well-fed Yuletide greeting.
That Carl had brought them down from Nottingham,
Along with a van-load of veg, mashed no
Parsnips with our resident host and comp?re.
Ho, ho, bloody, ho. 'And just what's so
Fucking funny?' As we fell off our chairs.
Other provocations included the sin
Of hoovering without a smile on your face.
'And make sure you do behind those cushions,
And look happy about it. Or the crime
Of solemnly entering the holiday car.
'We're going to fucking well enjoy ourselves.'
We usually did with dad as cabaret star.
* One syllable in a loud voice, usually from a prone position
requesting something.
Date mostly written: 2000
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