Poem: Memory

when my grandma phoned, I knew something was up – could tell by her voice.

She sounded worried. (And she never worried). She asked for dad’s number, she’d forgotten it, wanted to call him; needed to call. I gave her the number and then she said, “thanks. It’s your grandfather, you see. I think he’s dead”.

And that was it at the end of the line.

We all drov…