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Scratch
Scratch, scratch,
scratch in the night
I fail to reach him
though I break my skin
searching for his skin.
In this hospital bed
he requests winding tape
for a factory turbine hallucinates
the dull sheen
of machine metal - in the ghost
of a past life.
Then enquires where is the bairn?
I know not who we are all grown,
His children, grandchildren, save for the
little one just born the one he will
never know.
He places both hands in mine,
instructs me - I must click, click,
click them together saying this
improves the circulation, then he pulls
at my wedding ring and I try not
to cry.
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