YOUR WALLET

A FATHER TALKS TO HIS DEAD SON.

See this,
my son,

your black
leather wallet;

I turn it in my hands,
feel the softness of it

on my ageing skin.
I see you

in my mind's eye,
opening it

that last time,
to give me money

for the final bottles
of water before

your death.
I brush it against

my cheek,
needing that part

of you once more
as I had before.