Grandfathers, drawn in myth as if by co-incidence or perhaps a sinister synchronicity, become more feminine just as their wives transform into the tyrannical In-laws who blushing sons apologise and cover for;

husbands who beat their wives are soft-focus’s infantilised, ascending to a form of spiritualised only the absent access, shaped by all the fantasies of what might have been yet was lost, to rise to be seen as deities, whether alive or not.

Their wives, the grannies and earth bound mothers, who claim they quite simply forgot that if they’d had a heart attack and if they hadn’t cut their carbs and if they hadn’t unburdened their hearts, the men would probably predecease them, and in short,
they’d cop the lot, say that:
since they took amnesia’s advice and
since they now trust the little they might do,

they can but bury their heads in regret,
as others navigate the little of life left,
while grandparents are feminised
in lieu of retrospective respect

letters of the alphabet

arranged, as if by a true Deity,

in a form of jest ….

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