Grandpa’s wake

While Mr Crewe helped Mum

clear the discarded glasses and plates

of Grandpa’s wake,

Dad got two fishing rods

from the shed

and placed one in my hands.

He carried the bait box,

while I walked alongside,

all the way to the lake pier

as the evening light faded.

Dad baited the hook

and watched my nervous hands cast.

The lure landed barely metres away.

He smiled

and deliberately cast close to mine –

two bobbing floaters

in the shallows.

We sat like that for hours

listening to the slap of water

against the pier.

By the light of a half-moon,

I watched my dad’s face

unpack the meaning

of being a son

without a father.