Walking forward reciting back

                                                                          for Philip

in the first warm air of winter

on a path in Washington State
by a river
 historic Hanford Reach
after the Ides of March
still grieving a heart attack

that struck down my brother

early in January

my shoulder aching still

from a fall six months before

it wasn't the Walworth Road

I was walking with my arm strapped

to my shoulder with tape

it wasn’t on my way to see Uncle Joe

most friendly of our uncles

nor taking the path through Myatt's Fields

to play tennis on New Year’s Day

that year we cleared snow off the court
in bomb battered London

it wasn't St. James' church
where we sang for joy
though we were fatherless, iron
in our hearts, a chill alloy
that belled pure notes in spring

it was a path by a river

in Washington State

on All Fool's Day

masquerading as a god

on a bike path by a river

in guise of an old man

or a young strutting stud

I faltered or strode out

favoring the pavement

with a treat in false feet
playing out characters

as I did with the Street

who watched us grow up

in the first warm air

of   what would be summer

I sensed a chill in the shade

remembering passing a Barracks

where your father James Philip

stood to attention

holding my hand as he took off his hat

as soldiers came marching

men came marching

led by Royal Fusilier's flag

that is rare these days
   an officer said

thank you, sir
for showing such respect

‘Yes, the Fusiliers marched home

fewer than they left’ said the Street

‘left The Street bereft’

who knew all people by their tread

knew our father limped

sometimes pedaled a bike instead

on the bike path

I marched shoulders back

like a Fusilier tramping through France

then back to Dunkirk

traversing North Africa’s desert

until one day in a jeep

blown up by a mine

our father lived to come home again

blind in one eye and lame in one foot

only to die of a stroke

one New Year's   

                            eleven years later

now Phil is dead too

of a heart attack

when will I follow if I should follow?

that's why I'm masked as an immortal god

three couples passed me

at regulation intervals

Aphrodite and Hæphestus

pretending to be mortals

were always going to be first to pass

I could see they weren't destined to last

then Erato

more like Aphrodite of all nine Muses

came by on roller blades

with a son of Ares holding her steady

I could see they'd be abandoned in bed

before sun would set

he took her tottering arm and sped

sure footed away as Phil would have

led Maggie back when they were courting

then Euterpe a muse most musical

came by with Hæphestus' son

and I could see it would be she

made him do her bidding

an all seeing old man

a god in disguise

counting three beautiful women pass

knew it was just  another judgment of Paris 

an all seeing old man

once intimate with Aphrodite

chose Erato as his pick of the three

knowing his brother would have agreed

and that was only the first half mile  

along a bike path where walking is free

in the first warm air

of  what would become summer

an all seeing old man I followed a young couple

along the bike path

not fast enough to overtake

like an old Volvo on a hill

not passing a Subaru

I closed in then dropped back

knowing I was not fast enough

but realized then that I was a god

disguised as a feeble old man

walking Fondamenta Zattere

doing his best before his heart gave out

gamely trying to pass them by

who sensing my approaches

         fall backs

indecisions

decided to stand still to

let old Ezra pass

our Phil would have strode by them

he was a new model Audi

a self confident chap

he would have accelerated

and passed on by

without pause

then I swaggered on in my other rôle

as a strutting young stud

a prince with estate

concealing the pain of

a sword thrust to his shoulder

wearing his jacket like a Hussar

draped over one shoulder

there were two black cats

lynxes masquerading as cats

one to the right

one to the left

sacred to Dionysius

several hundred yards apart

they looked at me with knowing eyes

perceiving the god within my disguise

as one minute a dissolute drunk  

or next an earl with a plumed cocked hat

with appropriate hand gestures

murmurs of greeting to people passing

I progressed down the path

in the first warm air of soon to be Spring

when daffodils were waking

trees and shrubs were budding

birds began singing

my brother Phil ran marathons

would bicycle many miles

searched for supernovae

in night time skies

his observatory now stands empty

at the bottom of their garden

he was physically fit

mentally astute

took all by surprise

when his heart suddenly stopped

died on the spot

a thrush was singing in low fluted tones

in the first warm air

of that first warm evening

when through open windows

music might sound

how he loved music

especially Chopin

how he could warm his grand piano

that stands now with cold chords

he’s no longer at home

at his funeral a cousin piped in his coffin

with a Lament on Northumbrian pipes

how sad those pipes sound

what grief they unleashed

as they wailed

seventy years brothers

now time walks forward

one day at a time

reciting his name

                                     copyright © Dick Russell  2014