Photographic Evidence
Your photograph dropped out of the book I’d borrowed,
The cellophane protecting your face, curled and torn.
The Californian colours still shine Hockney-bright and
There is even a glinting swimming pool.
Your bold baseball hat fits neatly,
Beneath, a lush moustache and beard,
Then a hesitant, quizzical smile, born of habit –
Are you waiting for an answer?
Your mother (my lover) can’t remember who took the snap
But the speckled image straddles the years.
I guess I would have liked you, Marcus.
Now it’s me that gets cradled to sleep
And this is the most awkward thank-you letter I shall ever write.