Knees-Up In Old Joe's Park Poem by Robert Tomlinson

OLD JOE ached his way around the park,
Blessed by the sun,
Blasted by his gammy leg,
Cheered by Border Terrier Bert
Arf, arfing at his heels.

Four walls do not a prison make?
A lie, and Joe knew that, at home
Alone, wife deceased,
Son also, quite suddenly,
Gone...thirty-something.

So Joe came to the park,
Not to talk to the trees
But to chat to his pals,
And to feel that free, great space,
Forget the pain from his dodgy knees.

Joe rolled up his trews, showed me his leg,
Puce pink to red.
I winced, gave dog Bert a treat,
Showed Joe my own gammy knee.
White to soiled. Snap! See Joe.

Limped on with my two terrierable girls,
Sandy and Bear, playing chase,
Sharing our park,
Weeing & poohing here and there,
Them, not me.

Got my knee fixed.
Joe died.

There's now a bench
In Old Joe's Park,
"Dedicated to Jo
From his Dog Walking Pals".

Never had known his last name,
Old Joe Gillespie,
Neither did his dog Bert
Nor the trees,
In his blessed park.

Solace for souls, purgatory for knees.