My favourite story

Will be written by a man with a limp
who only writes in the mornings
when the light fills his study
and he wishes he could paint.
 
He hobbles down a cobblestone path
to buy fresh pastries and strong coffee,
always says good morning to a lady watering
her flowers, she only ever smiles back.
One day she will pick him a buttonhole
and change everything.
 
He works with an old typewriter,
takes time to ink the ribbon each day
his desk has gold leaf and a brown leather inlay,
the edges are dented and curl in the corners.
Underneath there's a drawer that sticks
it has pencil shavings that roll around,
and a dictionary for when
the words aren't sharp enough.
 
When he finishes a chapter
as a treat he takes a cream tea
under his favourite tree
and watches the swallows
long into the afternoon.
 
His face has lines, eyes are kind
with a thought he takes a journey
beyond the pain in his leg
around the agapanthus out
through the open window
to travel across the downs,
running like a child along
the edge of the beach,
he cries when he types,
and only stops to wipe his glasses.