Sunday, September 16, 2018

He was great, me Dad

He was great, me Dad 

He was great, me Dad 
He'd take me to Southport 
We'd go to the Wimpy 
And have the biggest beef burger you'd ever seen 
Followed by a mountain-sized Knickerbocker Glory 
Then we'd rush to the fair 
Where I'd jump on the rollercoaster 
And, for some strange reason, be sick soon after. 

He was great, me Dad 
He took me to see Everton every Saturday 
He made me a wooden rattle ~ 
What a racket that made! 
He bought me the Everton home strip from Jack Sharp’s 
And the best Puma football boots in the whole school. 

He once made me a huge wooden suitcase
With compartments
For all my Lego pieces.
He could make anything. 
He was great, me Dad.

He was also a diabetic  
Sometimes he'd put too much insulin in his blood  
So he could go out for a few bevvies with his mates. 
But sometimes he'd end up in a coma
And be rushed into hospital.

Sometimes in town he'd go funny
As if he was drunk.
It was just lack of sugar. 
I used to carry a bag of boiled sweets in my pocket 
Or put four sugars in his tea
When he wasn't looking

That's how he died.
Hypoglycemic coma, they said. 
He was 52. 
I loved me Dad, he was great

But I wish he hadn't gone so quickly
Just when I needed him 
Just when I had so much to learn.
I never really knew him, you know.
But I knew he loved me.

Peter Barrett

A book of poems by my friend Peter Barrett