For Helen and Harry

He stared into the tank as fish swam towards him

in an alchemy of welcome.

Bubbles rose past a plastic diver, and a mermaid’s chair –

until silently bursting into air.

His daughter – mother of his grandchildren –

played half-remembered fragments,

fingers finding familiar paths

along the keyboard of an old piano.

‘Bach’ he said, waiting for confirmation.

She laughed. ‘Bach as it should be played!’

He smiled, his doubts allayed.

Then two nurses sat with them.

‘Do you know this tune, Harry?’ one asked

as Helen played some more.

He said, ‘it might be Handel.’

But he was no longer sure.

‘Helen, where are the keys for our apartment?’ he said,

‘Harry, I have them here’ she kissed his head.

They walked arm-in-arm to Ward C4, diazepam, and bed.