This man
who is not

my father

is

my
father.

The other’s laugh:

“It’s not your turn but
he calls only for you! ”

And so I go
& clean him up

his skeleton thin body
splashed with urine & sh**.

I laugh & joke
with him.

He chuckles
as I tell him:

“Michael...you used to be
so full of crap
but sh**...now you’re not! ”

Lucky
our Irish sense of humour

extends this far

say anything with love and
it becomes so.

It is a tired old joke
but like a child he

pounces on its nuances
relishing each pause and stupid syllable!

I bathe
him

this man
who is not my father

gently as if he were

my child.

I sing
to him
all the old songs

I learned
at my father’s hands

as he bathed me.

“...why does my poor heart keep following you...”

We sing together
softly as I bathe him

dress him
anew

in the memory
of my father.

This man
who is not

my father

becomes
my father

as my hands learn
to care for him.

I settle
a pillow

behind
his head

wipe sweat
from his forehead

stroke
his hair

until his sleep
is full

of dreams

...dreams.

*******

Dónall Dempsey

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-man-who-is-not-my-father-is-my-father/