Popping kindle, wafting smoke,
the blackening log.
Orange glow, lava tinge took me back
to Ted as he coughed, wheezed.
His lungs full of smoke like the chimney.
Rib cage tight, his insides shouting,
like people stuck in a burning building.
What you do in life sits somewhere deep.
In him a volcano of fires he helped create,
spitting out. Bubbly blood in the sink
like water pressed out of a leather football.
Lack of sleep by a grainy cough,
his skin tanned and bark ridged.
Ted poked the coal with a versed hand.
Sitting back, letting the light shine through.
The only light in his life.
Visit Garetha at http://www.gculshaw.co.uk.