I sleep, with ghost memories
Dead people, often come to mind
Their names though, are sometimes elusive
Fragmented, dismembered, reclusive.
Whole night hours, I can spend
Trawling through events
I know, to me, they were very good friends
But now recollections, only come in segments.
It’s so frustrating
When I forget a name
Round and round my brain rotating
What was done, to earn such fame?
The gentle, but ineffective general trades foreman
His only skill was in cutting glass
His name was Jack – something
In my view, his appointment was quite subjective.
Then then there was John –
Another general trades foreman,
Rumoured, his team had robbed a bank
A hard man, who was both convective and effective.
The Defoe Road Depot workers
My family for quite a while
From dustmen to architects
Most, dedicated in their various subjects.
I still see him, that crushed wizened old man
Frank, who once had nine siblings
Pipe, ever clamped in his yellowing teeth
Five sisters killed in a car crash, he mistakenly masked his grief.
Bob, the skilled artisan;
He was a man’s man
Skilled and respected
No detail, ever neglected.
I don’t know who will come tonight
I’m not concerned who that might be
Not maudlin, for me these dreams are right
Is it the “Akashic Record” I see?