As You Find © 08 Barry Gardner

On emerging from the church the little old lady
nervously examined the uneven terrain
leading to the open grave.
Much as she wanted to share the final goodbye
the path, to her, seemed so long and perilous.

“I’ll help you over, dear” came the gruff
yet assuring voice at her shoulder and
she suddenly felt safe
as the large, tough-looking hand firmly
yet tenderly supported her forearm - -
a hand that had in the past
far from tenderly gripped many a piece
of human anatomy,
much thicker too than her frail arm,
except in the case of one particular unfortunate
who would certainly never forget it.

Immersed in her sorrow, she mused fitfully
on the winged tattoo ‘twixt
the vice-like thumb and forefinger.
“He must be a bird –lover” she naively thought,
blissfully ignorant of it’s full
cult-like significance.

With the ceremony completed, and
back on firmer ground again, she expressed
her gratitude to the kind young man,
little realising that had their mutual friend
passed on a few weeks earlier
he would likely have been unable to
attend the service at all.

Later, at the deceased’s family home,
he addressed her every need
amidst the hustle and bustle
of the grief-laden atmosphere,
and later wished her a fond farewell
with a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Tucked in her bed that night
she thought of her new-found friend
and prayed for him.
But his thoughts were then far removed
from the little old lady as
beneath the blanket he grasped
the cosh strapped to his wrist.
Knife also close at hand he drifted into
an uneasy sleep and dreamt of old scores –
yet to be settled.