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Poems

To my father, solicitor to the landed gentry

6 November 2014

3:00 PM

6 November 2014

3:00 PM

If you were still alive
You would be ninety-six tomorrow.
I think of you most days.
Just now, for example, I heard you
Defending the word ‘folk’
When, sometime in the Eighties,
I said it was twee.
Another day, I see you doing the weeding
At my sister’s wedding
And another day still
You’re at church
Hunched over a book
With your fingers in your ears
During the sermon.












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