Holding a fingertip softly
on a battered pencil;
this is your last memory of him
counting what stock they had left
before helping them to pack up
knowing they would return without him,
smiling faintly
as the book stall said
he was welcome to any book there
and Jenny at the cafe
who wouldn't let him go
without promising to come back,
standing there lost in thought
until they were all packed up
reclining in everybody else's eyes
until it was time for them to leave
and he had nowhere else to go
apart from back home.
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