The box we used to go to
has been taken away by a van.
Those glass walls so the world
could see in but not the words

you spoke. We went when
you needed to talk to Joan
or Rob, Gran or someone I
couldn’t reach to hear.

Your words tumbled down
the line. In rain I stood with you,
breathing in the stale cigarette ash.
In sun I pondered outside.

Every Friday you carried yourself
there, it became more important
as you aged. I didn’t know the words
back then, but saw the syllables in your eyes.

Gareth lives in Wales. He has his first collection by futurecycle in 2018.