I remember Dad air playing the violin: A poem 

In those days, outside the window 

the weather stormed with a roar 

And the early night came like a slow 

curtain falling to the tunes of the radio 

I want to see you air-playing the violin 

Like old times, you rocking your shins 

your elbows, your shoulders; a smile 

on your face. You rocked a mile 

I can see the music fill the corners 

of a tiny home. And Mum doing the honours 

of supper spread. And O so delicious! 

And it was not only the meals that we relished 

And I can see you worn out and wrapped 

in the hospital bed, where a brief life sapped 

in helpless atrophy; the challenges left unmet 

This involuntary abrogation and this death 

But I stare not at life’s grief, but keep record 

of the comfortable happiness, all even not odd 

A childhood that has no errors from fatherhood 

I see an invisible violin playing on your shoulder for good