My father took me
to the other side of town
a place I had not seen before.

In those days
walking eight miles there and back
following the invisible lines
crows make amid milling streets
was an art most fathers learned.

We walked in answer to an advert
a secondhand Hi Fi player-
a dad on a mission for his son.

He spoke little on that hot trek,
I jogging behind to keep up-
to be his sidekick.

Dad leaked perseverance
it made the soles of my shoes slippery.
I could feel his urgency
his need to find something
to bind us closer.

That evening
we both sat together
listening to Sinatra.

Moments to value
but also moments
discovered too late

for never again
were we to study the art
of walking for each other.









(C) Eric Ashford June 08