The yellow cab pulled up by the curb. <br />Twelve o’clock on the dot. <br />Trust Macca to be on time for a feed. <br /> <br />‘Hello Big Boy! Lovely to see you.’ <br />His blancmange face was unresponsive. <br />His oversized glasses glinted in the sun. <br /> <br />‘Better buy some beer, I suppose...’ <br />He shambled off to the pub round the corner, <br />his stick pecking the pavement. <br /> <br />I remembered the Macca of old, <br />with his scented baby skin <br />and his lovable teddy bear frame. <br /> <br />The rich Macca with the Merc <br />and the plethora of credit cards. <br />The Macca before bankruptcy and the stroke. <br /> <br />He had always been huge <br />and his love of the female form <br />and his delicacy with watercolors were legionary. <br /> <br />These days he has put down his brush <br />and the food he has craved all his life, <br />can no longer compensate for his decrepitude.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dear-old-macca/
