Mr Joseph Ginger By Nicholas Boldock

Mr Joseph Ginger was an indisposed old man With electrodes in his brain and arthritis in his hands He'd nearly fifteen grandchildren But he didn't know their names And he'd written a dozen books he could no longer understand Mr Joseph Ginger took a walk down to the park He strolled around and round again until the sky was dark He ignored the pain from both his knees And carried on regardless I'm here, he said to the winter wind, now no more shall we part. Mr Joseph Ginger settled down upon the grass He'd once sat in this very spot with the prettiest young lass As time wore on she'd grown too old And left the park for good And though they'd had so many years the time had gone too fast Mr Joseph Ginger lay and thought about that girl For fifty-something years or more she'd lit up Joseph's world And as her bones succumbed to age Her spirit stayed alive But when she had to go away she never said a word

Mr Joseph Ginger drifted slowly into sleep The tears he wept were taken by the grass beneath his cheek He thought of Mrs Ginger How he'd be beside her soon And hold her hand and tell her that his heart was hers to keep Mr Joseph Ginger was asleep for just a while Then as the cold air took his breath he walked the longest mile They found him there at six a.m. His body frozen through And on his face they thought they saw the traces of a smile. © Nicholas Boldock, December 11th, 2002

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