A Family Man

" Mr Hussein sends his apologies:

things are difficult at work;

he can’t change his shifts anymore

to come to these meetings.”

 

We shall miss you, Mr Hussein.

Dexterously your chubby brown fingers

wove the fabric of your story,

the magic carpet that has flown us

into the private mosaic of your heart. 

 

Your broken English tumbled from your lips,

gurgled as it ran along the rills,

brought new life to scorched fields -

halving the hurt we’d hawked before you -

while you alone held together the simple home

the monsoon tried to wash away.

 

Not with them,

for they have broken your windows,

those who also came to England

to find a better life;

cancelled too your daughter’s marriage,

arranged all those years ago;

 

not even with your wife,

at her respectful distance of ignorance,

can you share your greatest hurt -

not the desert trek from doctor to doctor,

your sickly child in your arms;

not the vultures thermalling the uncertain cure,

 

but knowing that no one wants to ride her bike,

that she’s lost her friends like

handfuls of pretty hair on the bedroom floor.

No, Mr Hussein, we haven’t forgotten you;

we think we should try to see you again.

.

Reviews

[Terpsichore]

Yes, well, it hasn't got any better since then. T

[Gerald Parker]

You're right. The scars have informed my writing since then. Can't help it. G

[Terpsichore]

This filled me with an ineffable sadness. Just an ordinary guy doing the best he can; it's a crappy world sometimes, isn't it. T

[Gerald Parker]

This was in 1985. Thanks for your comment.