Arm Wrestling with Nonno
My mother told me how he altered
the river’s course, how those muscles
were forged in the icy torrent where
he shifted boulders.
An alpine soldier of the first war,
later self-announced target
of Fascist batons and castor oil;
Fireman, climber, hell-raiser.
I knew him in a wheelchair,
his demijohns of red turning
to vinegar under the stairs
as he sipped Orangina.
It was my face that brought light
to his pale eyes, and it was me who,
before he died, was the one
he allowed to win.
Roy Marshall is a nurse and poet living in Leicestershire. He has been published in magazines in the UK and Ireland. His new pamphlet Gopagillais published by Crystal Clear Creators. Roy blogs. at roymarshall.wordpress.com