Thought comes to a full stop
howls  into empty air
to see what’s always there:
contradiction irresolution, confusion.

One early morning, years ago,
in a space of rain & snow
working as a child : the flaxen busty
woman gives me cakes to deliver
to rich households with well-educated
kids who never had to work — 
& still don’t. 

I never expected much — still don’t — in the cold air
of yesteryear my grandfather’s funeral,
paid for through the Co-op and trade
union. It rained and it rained,
on his dear-bought coffin lowered 
into a shallow trench, his western front:
I hold his medals & his uncertainties
dearly,
Jack Prince, my grandfather, friend, mentor.