The sky can fall in

The sky can fall in

The floor rise up

The walls move closer

In confinement.

Books

Lie open

Sundry words

Roll out with a smattering

Of expletives

Salting the air

If my father were alive

Would he say he loved me

It would be a first

There is nothing here

I haven’t seen before

It looks different

From the ground up

Tighten your grip

My boy

I can hear the words

Rattle through my head

Is it worth fighting

The inevitable.

When the weight

Of my conviction

Is equal

To the strength

Of my resolve

I will be moved

To continue.

Up is down

Depending on the mood

Did I make him proud?

He never said it

Within my hearing

I heard that

He told a friend

Over a pint

Or two

At the bar in the club

Between frames.

He would never say no

To a Guinness

But he would leave it

Untouched

If it didn’t

Meet his mark.

He was a stickler

For consistency

Whilst I was an erratic

Little beggar.

With a penchant

For disorder