Brylcreem and deja vu dreams

 
I was guilty of the disinterest of youth,
Of ignoring your faded swallow tattoos,
Now I am humbled at the unravelling clues,
The story of the boy who had no shoes,
Who walked miles to work in  pig iron pit,
In claustrophobic spaces so dimly lit,

Of places you painted deja vu dreams,
though i've never visited  them,
I smell faint brylcreem,
Great grandfather i'll be thinking of you on the day,
That i am sat staring out over Loch Carron bay