Friday eve: If a man daydreams his whole life,
does that make his whole life a daydream,
I think, stare into my cider, listen to Tommy
tell his tapestry of imaginings.
Half-drunk, I delight in trying to perfect
another’s friend’s birthday present. I pass Tommy
a plastic toy: a pirate ship on a furrow
of silver glitter waves. ‘Amazing, he’ll love it,’ he says.
His voice sounds as if he is a child again
but even fiery with shots, his speech is still
dignified, filled with that feigned fatherly wonderment
he’s rehearsed for twelve out of his thirty years.
Tommy saves to do charity work for Cambodia,
a nation I know only from sepia newsreels
and protest songs. I have heard lyrics that cite
a million bones jutting from blood fertilised soil.
and read how that military junta forced
darkness on civilians who had to wear black.
- I think even if a man is only as large
as the amount of people he loves, Tommy is world-sized.