Ketchup
(A lexicographer encounters the dying)
A splodge of red at the corner of his mouth turns out to be
not blood
but the remnant
(a surviving trace)
of the egg and chips with ketchup
(also catch-up, catsup, through Malay from Chinese)
he’d been given for lunch
(from Spanish, lonja, a slice of ham).
‘Did you like it?’ I shout.
My father’s wild eyes search the universe for inspiration,
his mouth puckers and frets,
his legs stiffen and tremble,
his arms circle his head.
Then he scratches his bald patch
(hairless, bare, without restraint, same root as bold)
and he smiles the tight bright smile of showing willing.
But we both know he is playing the old man’s game
of making time expand.
‘He finished every bit,’ says the nurse, not too proud to help him out.
The very lilt of her
(Middle English lulte, origin unknown)
announces her to be a cheerful body.
‘Yee-ee-s,’ he manages, and grins without teeth.
The nurse says: ‘There!’
(in that space, at that point, interjection expressing reassurance, finality)
and fits them over his gums, explaining:
‘They had to go for washing.’
(Old English wascan, Old High German wascan, same root as water).
The nurse goes away. We are absurdly alone
(single, solitary, by oneself, unique)
except for the beds in a row
and Sheryl Crow on the radio
and the sweet sick smell of shit and disinfectant
and Sheryl Crow on the radio
and the man in the corner,
older even than my father,
lost with his toast
crying out for marmalade
(French marmelade, Portuguese marmelade from marmelo, a quince)
because he doesn’t like Marmite
(late English trade name from the French for pot or kettle).
And Sheryl Crow on the radio:
A Change Would Do You Good.
And I get home. And my second wife Ruth
(pity, remorse, Hebrew through Middle English)
with the same name as my first
(who simply walked out on a midsummer’s morn leaving me Ruthless)
says: ‘I know it’s depressing
(pressing down, letting down, causing to sink, to humble)
with him the way he is, with his mind gone
(passed from one place to another)
but for him it’s company
(any assembly of persons or beasts or birds).
Anyway, it can’t be for long.’
And I think: ‘For how long?’
And I think: ‘O Father
(Old English fader, German vater, Latin pater)
who art in hospital,
thy death be done
quickly, quietly
for the sake of thine only son
(male child, offspring, issue, same root as father).’
(A lexicographer encounters the dying)
A splodge of red at the corner of his mouth turns out to be
not blood
but the remnant
(a surviving trace)
of the egg and chips with ketchup
(also catch-up, catsup, through Malay from Chinese)
he’d been given for lunch
(from Spanish, lonja, a slice of ham).
‘Did you like it?’ I shout.
My father’s wild eyes search the universe for inspiration,
his mouth puckers and frets,
his legs stiffen and tremble,
his arms circle his head.
Then he scratches his bald patch
(hairless, bare, without restraint, same root as bold)
and he smiles the tight bright smile of showing willing.
But we both know he is playing the old man’s game
of making time expand.
‘He finished every bit,’ says the nurse, not too proud to help him out.
The very lilt of her
(Middle English lulte, origin unknown)
announces her to be a cheerful body.
‘Yee-ee-s,’ he manages, and grins without teeth.
The nurse says: ‘There!’
(in that space, at that point, interjection expressing reassurance, finality)
and fits them over his gums, explaining:
‘They had to go for washing.’
(Old English wascan, Old High German wascan, same root as water).
The nurse goes away. We are absurdly alone
(single, solitary, by oneself, unique)
except for the beds in a row
and Sheryl Crow on the radio
and the sweet sick smell of shit and disinfectant
and Sheryl Crow on the radio
and the man in the corner,
older even than my father,
lost with his toast
crying out for marmalade
(French marmelade, Portuguese marmelade from marmelo, a quince)
because he doesn’t like Marmite
(late English trade name from the French for pot or kettle).
And Sheryl Crow on the radio:
A Change Would Do You Good.
And I get home. And my second wife Ruth
(pity, remorse, Hebrew through Middle English)
with the same name as my first
(who simply walked out on a midsummer’s morn leaving me Ruthless)
says: ‘I know it’s depressing
(pressing down, letting down, causing to sink, to humble)
with him the way he is, with his mind gone
(passed from one place to another)
but for him it’s company
(any assembly of persons or beasts or birds).
Anyway, it can’t be for long.’
And I think: ‘For how long?’
And I think: ‘O Father
(Old English fader, German vater, Latin pater)
who art in hospital,
thy death be done
quickly, quietly
for the sake of thine only son
(male child, offspring, issue, same root as father).’