Eulogy for Granddad

I did not cry
when I heard that you died,
and haven’t since.
That doesn’t mean I didn’t care.
It’s just that you were always
a mystery to me.
When viewed in the constant confusion
and fear that is childhood,
I never could draw close to you,
the old and watchful grump
in the armchair by the window,
irascible as fate
and impatient as time.
At the wake were pictures of you
in your National Service days,
capped and uniformed,
clutching a pint in a black-and-white pub
with other servicemen.
It amused me to reflect
that even at eighteen or so
you were massively ugly,
beady-eyed and mono-browed
(just like me, I know).
Recalling those few memories
that forged a kind of connection,
and stirring them with new knowledge
about the man you were,
a human being is discerned,
complex and frightening to youth
but now a pleasant memory.
Goodnight.