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.