After a long break – holidays and other distractions! - here I am back with my father. To get my thoughts back into shape, I'll combine the lines I've done and am reasonably OK with.
He sits in the chair that he made himself
A chair unlike any other
Square and upright with solid arms
Worn into familiar comfort.
I gain a grip where the black leather of his boot
meets the solid sole, still with soil attached.
A hanging black lace gives a handhold
and up I go onto the jungle of eyelets and ties.
It's easy climbing as far as the turn ups of his trousers
with a little effort I can clamber onto them
and consider the next part of the climb
It's an arduous steep climb up navy blue trousers
just enough creases for hand and foot-holds.
At the knee, I can pause.
Then on to the wide plateau of his gardening apron
with a pocket cave. There could be anything in there:
wire string, a pocket knife, some nails... I don't go in.
His jacket hangs behind him on on the chairback
and so the climb is made easier by the shirt and braces.
I can squirm between the two and ease my way up,
resting on the lip of the shirt pocket to get my breath.