FOUR THURSDAYS IN 1985

On the first Thursday (and why was it always a Thursday?)
I pointed my old blue car towards the Art School
On a day like any other.
"You've got a message" someone said
"Taped up outside the office door"
The lined paper told me to ring home immediately,
And so...
With an aching heart, I did.
And it turned nothing was wrong
And so I chatted to my dad.

On the second Thursday (and it was still a Thursday)
I drove my old blue car towards the Art School
On a day like any other.
Life went on as normal
We signed in and went for coffee
And toasted sandwiches at Brown's cafe,
Meanwhile...
My dad sat at home.
Writing his weekly letter to me, and
That weekend I had a last chat to my dad.

On the third Thursday (a terrible, dreadful Thursday)
After parking my old blue car behind the art school
On a day like many others.
"You've got a message" someone said
"Not this again" I replied, crossly… and
The lined paper told me to ring home immediately,
And so...
I stormed into the office.
Demanding explanations
And they told me about my dad.

On that same Thursday (a long and tortuous Thursday)
I pointed my old blue car towards my home
On a day like no other.
"You need to come home" my sister had said
Despite my mother telling her to lie
Because she was worried about me driving
And so...
With the October sun setting to my left
I drove home in a fretful state
To hear about what happened to my dad.

On the fourth Thursday (because it had to be a Thursday)
I pointed my old blue car back towards college
On the day I left my mother.
Alone, two days after the cremation
After a week I remember little about
Apart from one or two bizarrely amusing moments
And so...
I returned to my new old life
And found, in the post-room pigeon hole,
A last letter from my dad.

Martin A W Holmes, June 2015