I found my father’s funeral programme
Stuffed in the side-pocket of my car.
His now crumpled, kind face stares across
The ancient landscape of the Oxford Downs,
Perhaps searching for the ley lines
He plotted so carefully on his maps.
Linking burial mounds, stone circles, weathered churches.
His gaze follows the line of a
Prehistoric track, as if looking for
A path out of his past and into his future.
I smooth it out
Fold it neatly, and
Put it in my back-pocket.