Time Of The Signs Poem by Neil Crawford

Rough lad linking Grandad
disproves a stereotype,
old man - dementia? - possibly,
poor dentures gripping pipe.

With care the young man guides him
past shops he used to know..
'They're all for charity now Grandpa,
that's the way it seems to go'.

'That's the pub I met your Grandma in,
she worked behind the bar,
that fast food place was a dealers
where we bought our first small car'

'Your Mum was conceived on its back seat,
now keep that quiet our Sean,
we thought our lives were so complete,
the day that she was born'.

'Now she lords it over me,
Mussolini in a dress,
she doesn't mean to be so mean,
it's just her way, I guess'.

'Your father left her in the lurch
when you were but a tot,
now no amount of booze or church
brings comfort to her lot'.

'Who does he think he's staring at,
with that snobby look? '
'Now, Grandpa, he's just having a brew
and reading some poncey book'.

The young man's eyes meet mine
and I see his heart is torn
when his Grandad turns and asks him...
'Are you my grandson, Sean? '.