Joseph spends most of his time in his head,
Recalling the times when he contributed to life.
Admired, respected and a source of knowledge.
Once a much-loved man who adored his wife.

Joseph lifts a suitcase from the shelf in the wardrobe.
Heavier then he remembered, tell-tale of a frail old man.
Battered leather protecting his precious recollections.
He examines the things that record his whole life span.

He tears-up as he holds a photograph of his wedding day.
Monochrome with smiling faces surrounding him and Joyce.
A kiss for her and thoughts of them meeting at the cinema.
He’ll hold her again soon and tells her so in a soft voice.

Twelve years alone; few comforts, just TV and his books.
A simple meal and a cup of tea fuel his existence.
A traipse to the Post Office each Thursday.
The council offered support but Joseph was full of resistance.

His suitcase offers up a de-mob book, an army certificate,
A cherished cricket ball, train tickets and a birthday card.
He reflects on a newspaper cutting, an obituary for his Father.
A little-known hero who saved the lives of men in a dockyard.

Rent books document the homes he’s had.
Some letters of love from Joyce sent to Rouen.
He recalls they kept him going in August ’44.
He also remembers some old friends long gone.

A school leaving certificate when he was fourteen.
An early drawing of his inscribed Joseph aged ten.
Two words are written on the back, ‘For Mum’.
They’re in pencil as no one then had a pen.

Their ration book last used by Joyce in April ’54.
He holds it gently transferring her touch to his.
There’s a cork Joyce kept in a kitchen drawer.
From when they shared that lovely bottle of fizz.

This elderly man was all alone.
No future but a full and rich past.
He had dignity and a suitcase of memories.
He’s reunited now with his wife at last.