Granddad Tommy

An ocean in your lungs,
as a smoker of Woodbines,
you sat, coughed and demanded.
You were a submerged memory
who wasn't man enough to fill
my father's shoes.

But now, my heart chooses
to honour you with a lone
whisper in the dark, hushed,
torch-beam tight as you must
have breathed, in
the buried river of coal.

The seam of something precious
gone, I think of you,
trying to scavenge a little warmth
by touching you. But I know
you're not what
I presumed you to be.

The subtle ripple of time passing
makes strange the familiar.
Reducing you to an object
you were no use to me.
Once again underground,
your tangibility is mined.