Sometimes he would alter
an entire verse,
take out the parts I liked,
accompany his terse remarks
with “cheers.”
Other times he would say
my grammar
made no sense at all,
and that the whole piece
was unsalvageable.
On new years eve, he asked,
“Have you opened a bottle yet?
...and don't remind me
how old I am again.”
I had never mentioned his age.
It took me a while to realise
that he was referring
to the content of my poem,
days in fact.
“nice one
Barrie”




