Snapshot

I have these day dreams, vivid pictures in my head, 

laying down what should have happened next, 

I think nearly thirty years later of father and son, 

how a different ending to the story could be spun. 

The old man, my fallen hero, argument our mantra 

those learned truths handed down, rejected later, 

still, we had some common ground in our Venn diagram, 

country and classical, though Will Pavia’s article, 

makes me think about movies we enjoyed,

 war films and Bond, Broadsword calling Danny Boy, 

I would love to sit behind him in the car one more time,

to see the crows feet, of his natural smile, shine. 

And my little boy, never saw a movie played, 

or heard music outside the womb, those tunes, 

that I would have shared with him, would we clash, 

is it a normal father son thing, or am I being rash, 

this game of false memory is not new to me, 

and not one I wish to play again, too much debris, 

I still stagger, post counselling, sometimes overwhelmed, 

maybe I can move the dial a notch and rebel. 

Good writing, a wonderful thing as years are crossed, 

to engage with the past and grieve at the loss, 

treasuring memories and suspending the might have beens

thinking how I will myself address those deathbed scenes.