He is in his 80s. He points at your pink socks
and puts a thumbs up. He says his kids
are in their 50s and that years lose numbers
over time. He is desperate for a hug.
He tells me to savour you.
He tells you to cause chaos.
He says you were made from magic
and hope and he disappears
unsure if he ever really existed.

© Carl Burkitt 2021