He asks his carer Where did last Thursday go?
She answers Time’s peculiar as she empties water
from the vase to rearrange the daffodils.
Look there’s a squirrel outside says his granddaughter
turning his wheelchair round to engage
him in a world he was never part of.
He hadn’t looked up from his paper the time
two buzzards attacked a crow swerving
from the depth of sky.
Never noticed valerian growing through walls,
on holidays he never went on family picnics,
outings to the beach
looking for razor shells.
He never fished in rock pools
or got excited
when a pair of kites flew overhead.
He’d kiss them all goodnight,
make sure they’d brushed their teeth.