Years of working weekends,
cashing in his holidays, dossing
in loveless digs beside arterial roads
or in vans to pocket his expenses.
He’d earned it, kept on how
soon he’d be in Lido di Jesolo,
a linen suit for evenings;
us lot wouldn’t exist.
Back three days later,
rubbing down skirting boards
before we arrived. Couldn’t stand it:
the kids, the heat, the wife.
