Jim sits alone in his cottonwool world, <br />a man without a recent memory. <br />The shaking of his hands <br />caused not just by the vodca he consumes <br />every day <br />but from the cruel disease <br />he inherited from his family. <br /> <br />Martina works hard for a meagre living <br />and has a little one to look after <br />but she will check on Jim each day, <br />making sure that the prostrate body <br />seen lying on the settee <br />through uncurtained windows <br />is still breathing. <br />And she will gently remind him <br />in her soft Irish lilt <br />that the food he left outside two days ago <br />may no longer be fit for eating. <br /> <br />Barry checks Jim’s boat <br />and makes sure that it is safe <br />to be on the water. <br />He will roll up his sleeves <br />and help clean up the mess <br />left by a failing mind. <br />And he will open up the tobacco packet <br />proffered by Jim <br />whose own hands are unable to grip. <br /> <br />Nigel will help <br />whenever he can. <br /> <br />I will make him that omelette <br />he hinted at <br />when I spoke of the eggs and bacon <br />I have on my boat. <br />He told me of the sausages <br />he thinks he has, too. <br /> <br />Jim will trundle along the towpath <br />looking for company <br />and find it. <br />He will tell us of things <br />which never happened, <br />and we will smile. <br />And he will, too. <br />He’ll talk of ex-wives <br />and childhood happenings, <br />remembering the details vividly <br />but will not remember those things <br />he did this morning. <br /> <br />It’s Jim’s birthday today. <br />He’ll have company <br />to celebrate it. <br /> <br />Happy birthday, Jim.<br /><br />Francesca Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jim-of-the-cut/
