In the Willows

I can still run
I know what's around each corner,
no need for hesitation,
but if I stay too long
I might never go back.

Granddad couldn't remember
how to go from hospital to house,
such vulnerability,
place names he lost
to scrabble, turned over blanks,
always starting a new game.
His Captains map
washed away in a blood clot.

So, I keep my hood up
never make eye contact,
long term memory
more precious than short.
I have my map
it's crumpled,
stained with an old tea bag
for authenticity
and kept beneath the look
on Granddads face,
lest I should forget
how to get back to
these streets
and who gave me my name.