If you were here
We’d spend my lottery win
We’d drive out to Westfield
Buy specialist £4 bread
And skip the light fandango.
We’d eat hammy paninis on stone boulders
outside the show of ‘Getty Images’.
I’d buy you a velvet cushion.
You’d say “Your dad wouldn’t like this”.
I’d question, “Do you, mum?”
We’d slide to the indoor market E15
No synthetic for you, shoe-laces, velcro
Just something of class to last.
You’d throw away your old blue mack.
Sit royal: Assistants can pull from the rack
Something befitting your dignity
If you were here.
There’d be money to spare
You could demolish a giant Mars Bar
And buy dvds of John Wayne.
A gas-fire would overheat you, no slot-meters again.
You’d call a cab to take you to Tesco
Or across to the London Crem’
To lay down tears and flowers
In memory of dad. Amen.
They say money isn’t everything.
You say “That was lovely. Let’s do it again!”
If you were here to share my win.