Felix

Old Felix came and went
His business combs and buttons
Ones for nits, others brass and cotton
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,
the 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
Look 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 and pencil and the card,
Left behind the memories
Of a man who left no mark.
Sufficient was the day....
He had no morrow...
Just today   ...   ...   ...
 
And that old coat.