THE STEP:

The old grey kitchen step sat beneath the old man´s withered thigh,

Cold & cracked, just like its sitter´s arthritic bones & rheumy eye,

Built by the old man´s pa, many moons ago when he was just a boy,

This familiar step, sat on through life´s pain & through many a joy.

Young snotty lad of scuffed shoe, droopy sock & crunchy apple cheek,

Watching Nan’s wind-blown knickers on the line every day of every week,

Pushing wooden home-made car over imaginary roads & dreamy ways,

This step, played on by a little boy who owned long endless days.

Sulky teenage days, watching heavenly heavy hipped girls pass by,

Libido going up in forbidden hormonal smoke & frustrated sigh,

 This place of young man´s unspoken desires & secret dreams,

This step where teenage lad sat & secretly screamed.

Sitting watching the stars next to Mary, who breast-feeds baby son,

 A son long gone, taken out of existence by war´s far foreign gun,

Holding hands, soft words of love, giggles & flowing tears,

This step has been sat on through happiness & many fears.

Now old, dreams garbed in wrinkled weathered grey bone,

Nobody left, no boy, no teenager, no father, only grey stone,

The only legacy left from father to son is hard cold & grey,

This step has seen it all from the first happy, to the last sad day.