Old Friend
Nearly fifty years ago
His life came to its end
And I lost a much loved
And respected old friend.
Born cruelly disabled,
Paralysed by surgical knife,
A calculated risk in the hope
Of a more normal life.
Enjoy your life
The surgeon had said,
It won’t be for long,
And you’re a long time dead.
A bon viveur and raconteur
He spun many a fine tale
Enthroned in his wheel chair
Clasping his pint of real ale.
At first on foot, taxi or train
Latterly in the car of the day
We wandered and forged
Our merrily desperate way.
A sudden blink of fate
And Old Hawkins was gone
Still only in his thirties
As time, uncaring, moved on.
I cried at his funeral.
His loss twisting like a knife,
Celebrating the memory of
His short but well lived life.
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