My Santiago

when I helped him, -Perhaps unwitting- Perhaps naive and a bit timid, Play out his duplicity when his wife went to work and the ‘other woman’ moved in.

Perhaps that’s where it went wrong, When

I approached his wife, She being untangled, But to him, always his.

Our bonds came unstuck on some vague moral boundary, Where his subterfuge and my imitation meant something had been tested and found wanting.

So we drifted – away, But abruptly, Never seeing nor contacting, Now apart,

But nevertheless, Missing his style,

His ‘quiet’ opinions, His food, wine, car and sandstone part-house, by the beach, With antiques;

His education into life - for me.

He remarried, Post - cancer (throat it was), Beth being young and willing to commit for as long as they had; not long though,

And then he had gone, And I missed the chance

to say the things I needed to say.