I remembered you last week
leaning on the front gate
hair left in a photo album.
Fingers thicker than January wind.
Your smile grew on our face.
The cars you had with empty cans
and take-away wrappers
thrown in the back.
You only ever looked at tomorrow.
But now you’re gone we have
The Labour MP
He was part of the Labour Party.
Carried a briefcase lived with his
mum. His height made him look
small. Glasses sat on his nose
hooked onto his ears to see
the details of why we voted.
He was a quiet man kept his tongue
in London. Put posters up in his
windows when campaigns started.
Sometimes he wore a blazer
carried pens in his chest pocket.
Viced a folded newspaper between
arm and rib in case the words
he needed in life fell out and blew
away in the wind. Leaving him
with nothing to say to his mother.