Ladder Man

My Dad was a ladder maker
constructing kit for cleaners of windows
slow and steady in his craft putting pride before profit
his ladders rested upon sills and guttering
of every discerning domestic dwelling in Derbyshire

Dad only used good unblemished wood
free from faults and knots
he did not sell steps filled with putty mix
berating those who operate quick and dirty fixes
which may betray the trust of unsuspecting customers

From my Dad I learned to discover deceit
searching cracked smiles and creaking protestations
gleaning hidden truths beneath glossed over surfaces
his lofty craft keeping my feet firmly on the ground.

Time Peace

Dad collected clocks; meticulously winding, checking, synchronising.

Marvelling  in the mechanism, ‘listen,’ he beseeched, and held us still,

as simultaneous hours struck irreplaceable moments.

 

With reckless disregard we hurtled  through time;

complex histories mocking Dad’s imparted  precision.

Still he held us – a permanent pivot in a plethora of progress.

 

Alarm bells rang when  Dad’s clocks collected dust;

A family epoch ending, we watched his equilibrium tip.

Though pendulums slow, time must pass. We were ready at last.

 

Still now, we listened, and held our father close as time wound down.