The Next Few Steps

In the first window of the charity shop there’s an acoustic guitar. A make I don’t recognise and the price is just a little high. In the next few steps I think about how Dad’s going into care for a short while today: will be about this time that he’s being helped into the car and not knowing what the little suitcase is for. In the second window there’s another guitar; wide-necked, casual classical. It answers the brief I wrote in a note to myself last year (the year before?). In the next few steps I think how my godson’s getting married today. And that I have a guitar down there, where they are in France that answers the brief very well. And how we’ll see them, just married, in sunshine next week. I step onwards to the cash machine. Feels at the moment that the whole world’s just taking the next few steps. Like getting rid of the guitars.
Administration.
I think about the Larkin poem (closed-book recall, Aubade?) ‘Postmen, like doctors, go from house to house’…
We’ll drink our toasts at the end of the day; end of the week.
I made a painting of Dad.

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About Stevie Mitchell

I come from a long line of cartoons and beer. I was once peed on by a tiger. Hoping the resultant super-powers are yet to come, cos if these are they, then, grrrr....
This entry was posted in Art, Family History and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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