Your hug is huge
unlike the rest of you –
which is rather small.
You loved to run as a kid.
Told us about ‘that race’
when the big six footer beat you by a hair
and the whole family cheered
‘Best bloody footrace we ever saw.’
I stroke your hair
(still auburn thick at fifty seven)
and listen to your eyes
as they try to hide.
Your voice
slurs just a little
‘You’d never know’
and your long fingers
(apologetic somehow)
hardly shake at all.
‘You look so fit’
they all told you at the party.
But you don’t, do you?
Not a bit.
Off tomorrow
back to Queensland.
Sad about the guitar.
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