Just For You Poetry

Eighty three he was
when the circulation stopped
in his right leg,
“It will have to come off” they said.

He had had a crap year really,
lost his wife of fifty seven years
to cancer, now this.

He lying up in bed and me sat in the chair,
ward four, talking about how it is all going
to be all right and not to worry,
“You’re in good hands, Dad” I told him.

Yeah! I was worried about his age and the
anaesthetic, fingers crossed behind my back,
he was really scared too, could see it in his eyes.

He told me that when I check his house for him
that night I was to take thirty pounds from his
draw and buy a good bottle of malt and
have a drink to his health on him.
I think he thought he was saying goodbye.

I told him how ionic and bloody typical that is,
I drink the whiskey, Dad and you get "legless".

He laughed so loud the nurse came running, it was from
that moment the fear seemed to go from his eye’s,
it was good to see him laugh.

He has been gone a while now
and when I look back I see that laugh and I smile,
I do so miss him, his wisdom, and him just being there.