Under his hat
my uncle's smile
permanently hung
like a weathered sign
creaking in the wind
singing in the rain
as present as
sunrise and sunset.
a smile always
bursting into laughter
like flames catching
the kindling
becoming a roaring
fire.
His hat and him
the one thing
only taken off
every now and then.
Pushed back on his head
in an amazed gesture
to what a little boy had
said: 'Well...be the hokey! '
Or' Be the Holy Dublin! '
The same words spoken
in a thousand different ways
set alight
with his smile's delight.
Now he has walked off
without his hat
Death told him
he had no need of it
I wait like a child
for him to come back
hoist me with a hand
upon his back
place his hat
upon my head
laugh like mad
at anything I said
as I inhabit his hat
crawl like a hermit crab
inside his smile
mimic him
as if I were h
'Be the Holy Dublin! '
'Be the Hokey! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem