Norm

Note: this is a really quick sketch of a poem, and I'm going to work on it more, and fill it out, and improve it. Sally knows the man in question, he comes into work. There's so much more on this to come. I'm really glad I'm writing this one. Norm is a gentle soul.

I see him once a week.
He shambles in, white hair, white beard;
Father Christmas come out of the rain.

Today he was heralded by Dan and Mez -
Knowing smiles: 'Norm's coming!'
Something to brighten your day.

I always laugh when you're here.
Such sincerity, stumbling through sentences
Now, I don't mean to offend you...

Norm, I could never be offended
Not by you, by your voice still thick
With the drawl of a country you left fifty years ago.

Not by the honesty in your blinking eyes.
We spoke, today, of Hemingway
Of bitter old men who lost the world.

How old am I? I'm eighteen, Norm, and here it is,
Norm, the story of how it could have been,
Might have been, both sixteen,

And as you cut to the other side of the street I glance up,
Eyes bright: Cut you a smile as sharp as glass,
As calculated as the equations drawn straight in the margins of your books.