For My Father Copyright © Rob Lock 2010

You, eyes, on careful sentry-go for more
than thirty thousand days, you’re flagging now.
Protected by a two year wait for school
then avid for each fact you could inspect,
over forty three million minutes, assess,
Sumerian sexagesimal system, and send
up the line for filing: you’re giving out
at last. This peering through thick lenses
can’t go on much longer. Floaters drift
across, distracting but accommodated;
now injections for unsteady edges:
verticals that won’t stack up. Don’t give in -
not when you’ve seen him through this far.
Keep blinking on till heart or lungs give way:
on active service to the end, when
some helping hand can close you, duty done.