Felix (Edited 2017)

Old Felix came and went    
His business combs and buttons    
Ones for nits, others brass and cotton    
buttons to be squashed by wooden roll.    
How big his feet in sagging shoes    
how bowed his coat, herring bone and worn    
a heavy coat, a winter coat    
In blazing June .   .   .    
A poor man, a good man,    
with eyes so blue and frank    
He was a tramp.   
   
He pushed a childless pram, without a hood,    
left it in the street,    
card-board case opened at the door    
with things to sell to Mam,    
and sometimes Dad was there.    
Had a little book of poems    
one was on a card,    
was it his? He said it was    
no need to disbelieve    
those eyes so blue and frank,    
his coat... so long and worn,    
   
Slept outside he said,    
 ( the sweating coat in June! )  
Oh!...Yes!...The little book.    
Was it blue?    
Or....did those eyes?    
Yes, what did they do?    
Did he smell?    
Stood without the porch, could not tell.    
Did not want to know.    
It was those eyes so blue, so frank    
above that coat so worn.    
   
The war was on, buttons scarce as gold    
Felix got his from a Walmgate store,    
 a corner store beside St.Deny's Church    
we passed it every week,    
but always bought from Felix.    
Lent me the book.    
Or was it given me?    
I gave it back, I wished I'd not    
he wanted me to have it.    
   
Dead now Felix and your book    
lost beneath a tree,    
but not the memory of those eyes,    
so blue so frank    
that heavy coat in June    
and hands that asked for friendship,    
With a book    
   
What was in that book,    
a blue book with grubby back?    
Poems beyond my years,    
a little boy from Sunday School.    
The card began  .  .  .    
Yes, I remember now    
"My mother taught me,    
Mathew, Mark and Luke and John"    
the rest is gone, something under a tree,    
had he sat beneath a tree to write?    
But on the card the lines were print,    
not licked and leaden pencil.    
Kept for years, the card now gone.    
The book, I gave it back.    
Worried months in-case you did not come    
Gave it back....a great mistake . . .    
To those reluctant hands    
with saddened eyes    
so blue and frank,    
an older coat,    
its back more bent.    
   
Away he walked    
in shuffle-shoe, and stooping coat    
card-board case in tatters,    
the sleeves seemed longer    
fancy frills............    
the herring bone had worn    
to show the lining,    
no leather edge like mine,    
Buttons there were none, but    
stooped and arched    
the open cloth became a porch    
against the snow and rain    
and sweating summer sun.    
I never looked to see the pram.    
As empty as before?    
Soundless turned the wall,    
proud along the path    
its London Pride and bricks.    
   
"Who were you,?    
Your hair was long uncombed,    
you came down Constantine    
Like Jesus Christ at Sunday school    
Christ in Constantine I thought    
(I was that age).......    
had trod those pavements I despised? ”    
Gentle Jesus, meek and mild    
Looked upon a little child    
turned........................    
and walked away.    
   
I wonder where he went?    
He must be there by now,    
Left behind the pram,    
Thrown away the case    
The book pencil and the card,    
Left behind  memories    
Of a man who left no mark.    
Sufficient was the day....    
He had no morrow...    
Just today...............    
   
   
And that old coat.