The day my dad went mad.
He came undone with no sense of decorum.
His pants soiled and the room reeking of shit.
Paisley and the Pope shook hands in the Ivy house across the way,or so he said.
We laughed because it was easier than crying.
This was no celebrity breakdown;
there was chaos as he tried to climb the venetian blind,
And people sniggered as he danced with the shopping trolley,
mums best table lamp balanced on top to show him the way.
He became mute.
Exhausted by this world he retreated to some other benign place.
Lingered there for months,wrapped warm and cosy in a strait jacket.
He came home on Christmas day,a male nurse on either side of him.
His crazy blonde quiff still shone like a halo in the late December sun,
but nothing else remained.
He was a husk of a man,
A lithium hologram.