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"Two, eleven, twenty three"
I heard that often
At the hospital
Frequently
Over the last eight months
During our regular visits
"Date of birth?"
"Two, eleven, twenty three"
They asked it each time
To make sure
They had the right man.
And each time he answered
With pride
And an invitation for compliments
(which he always got)
(especially from his smiling nurses)
And he would tease
An extra compliment
"See you next time," they would say
"If I'm still here by then," he would smile
Knowing they would touch his arm
And admire his years
And he was still here
He was
"If I'm still here by then,"
He'd rehearsed it often
Over the years
Birthdays
Christmases
"If I'm still here by then"
But his last visit
He didn't say it
And I didn't listen
To him not saying it
He was busy joking with the nurses
And complaining about the other patients
Dad was on form
But he didn't wake up the next morning
And suddenly he wasn't still here by then
He didn't warn us.
I still hear him say
"Two, eleven, twenty three"
But it's a different question now
and I hear myself say
"Twenty one, four, eleven"

Pete

I very much like your poem Pete.

Thinking of you

Judy

An excellent poem.

Your father sounded like quite the charmer,
I'm sorry for your loss.

Cate

Oh, Pete, I am so sorry to hear about your losing your Dad. I thought this was to be another of your delightful mathematical poems, which I came to automatically read, once I saw your name.

Such a beautiful and poignant tribute to your Dad your poem is... perhaps, you can write more poems later to give us more glimpses into who he was... thank you for bringing this one to us. Your own sense of humour has a clear lineage.


Love,
Lizzy