BernardYoung

By BernardYoung

Ackroyd's Dad

You’d hear him coughing
in the early hours.
It almost put me off staying


but Ackroyd, Antony
(head of the alphabet
in the grammar school roll call –


Ackroyd? – Here, sir
Arnold? – Here, sir…


and so on
until…


Wilson? – Here, sir
Young? – Here, sir
)


was always such a laugh
that to stay over
(they weren’t called sleepovers then)


and be forced to endure
his dad’s hacking cough
in a room close by


was a price worth paying.
Yet that friendship
was short-lived.


By the second year
we were in different forms
and had formed different friendships.


I’ve no idea what happened
to Ackroyd or his dad.
I expect he’s dead (the dad).


And thinking, now, about that cough,
(I was about eleven when I stayed
and gave no thought to his dad being ill)


it was probably an early death.

Comments
Sign in or get an account to comment.