To visit you meant eating
sausage rolls and doughnuts,
coffee with milk warmed in a pan,
expanding (like my waistline)
like a comet heated by the sun
like that one we saw in ‘97
from your balcony that Saturday
came round to watch the lotto
made a wish, prayed to heaven
Mystic Meg would make us winners,
Never did tell us those numbers.
We were winners nonetheless.
I know I talk of long-gone times
and not more recent days,
you knitted such a pattern in my childhood
brain a stocking stitch of memories for keeping
warm and cosy like those cardigans you made.
Might need one for this winter.
And what would we have done without
those co-op stamps for Christmas?
Don’t want to say we drank them,
perhaps just one or two
and with each one, a toast to you Nan.
Always did, will always do.
Another comet’s just gone by
too quickly this time,
no longer seen with naked eye.
Perhaps you hitched a ride.
I still hear Heartbeat Nan,
you turned it up so loud.
Just the TV show now
you’ve got to go.
Love you lots,
call when you can.
Ta-ɾa then Nan, ta-ɾa.
