LAST RIGHTS
Posted: Fri May 20, 2011 11:50 am
LAST RIGHTS
It was clearly marked to this address, dirty and brown with stain
and watermarked around the edge – as if left in the rain.
The postmark was quite indistinct dated six months before.
A letter so long overlooked was now here at my door.
The postage stamp was foreign, the writing spidery and thin
the addressee alas had passed on – so no reply from him.
I thought – best open up and see what it is all about
for there were none that I could pass it to. I knew that without doubt.
We’d moved back here eight months ago – ‘twas derelict and dark
and Baz the bloke who owned it now lay buried in the park
on the hillside ‘midst the crosses of his old ex army mates.
One old digger gone to meet his maker. Makes you contemplate.
The letter was hand written and as I scanned every line
it was obvious that this just had not arrived here in time,
for ‘twas a deathbed confession from a bloke by name of Jack
who had wanted here to right a wrong from long years down the track.
Seems these two were mates from way back, both grew in a country town
and enlisted, took the uniform, swore to fight for the crown.
Had each other’s backs at all times – got in trouble, drank and whored
as young blokes have done through history whenever there is war.
Seems Jack had fancied Lilly – though Lilly and Baz were wed
and he got her in the family way – stole her from Baz’s bed.
Then with callow disregard for the mayhem he left behind
he went away and hoped that Baz would the truth never find.
The child grew up a young and strong bloke, apple of his Dads eye,
and if perchance his Mum occasionally did espy
a fleeting likeness to his father Jack, well she hoped none could see
and start wondering about it – it was long past history.
But Baz was not an idiot – he knew the story well
but never let on to Lilly – and he did not on it dwell.
Jack had been like a brother and Lilly was his love light
and the child was his in every way - except for that one night .
How do I know this story and how can I sit here and tell
how it ended? Well it’s easy for I knew the players well.
For though Jack was my real Father it was Baz who was my Dad
and my mother’s name was Lilly – they were the family I had.
So today I’m going to the park to talk to Mum and Dad.
I’ll be taking up the letter that was sent by Jack the lad
to place beneath red roses gathered from out near the shed;
letter marked 'no action needed - put to rights – all parties dead.'
Maureen Clifford © 05/11
It was clearly marked to this address, dirty and brown with stain
and watermarked around the edge – as if left in the rain.
The postmark was quite indistinct dated six months before.
A letter so long overlooked was now here at my door.
The postage stamp was foreign, the writing spidery and thin
the addressee alas had passed on – so no reply from him.
I thought – best open up and see what it is all about
for there were none that I could pass it to. I knew that without doubt.
We’d moved back here eight months ago – ‘twas derelict and dark
and Baz the bloke who owned it now lay buried in the park
on the hillside ‘midst the crosses of his old ex army mates.
One old digger gone to meet his maker. Makes you contemplate.
The letter was hand written and as I scanned every line
it was obvious that this just had not arrived here in time,
for ‘twas a deathbed confession from a bloke by name of Jack
who had wanted here to right a wrong from long years down the track.
Seems these two were mates from way back, both grew in a country town
and enlisted, took the uniform, swore to fight for the crown.
Had each other’s backs at all times – got in trouble, drank and whored
as young blokes have done through history whenever there is war.
Seems Jack had fancied Lilly – though Lilly and Baz were wed
and he got her in the family way – stole her from Baz’s bed.
Then with callow disregard for the mayhem he left behind
he went away and hoped that Baz would the truth never find.
The child grew up a young and strong bloke, apple of his Dads eye,
and if perchance his Mum occasionally did espy
a fleeting likeness to his father Jack, well she hoped none could see
and start wondering about it – it was long past history.
But Baz was not an idiot – he knew the story well
but never let on to Lilly – and he did not on it dwell.
Jack had been like a brother and Lilly was his love light
and the child was his in every way - except for that one night .
How do I know this story and how can I sit here and tell
how it ended? Well it’s easy for I knew the players well.
For though Jack was my real Father it was Baz who was my Dad
and my mother’s name was Lilly – they were the family I had.
So today I’m going to the park to talk to Mum and Dad.
I’ll be taking up the letter that was sent by Jack the lad
to place beneath red roses gathered from out near the shed;
letter marked 'no action needed - put to rights – all parties dead.'
Maureen Clifford © 05/11
