how he turned there
on the bank of the
dark river and said
fook you, get all those
books away from me.
and I stopped and
said, well fook you too
then. he seemed to like
that and smiled.
and I said Sam
Sam what am I going
to do? still smiling
he cocked his head.
you keep going,
keep going till
the end of the road.
and what then I asked
what then?
he said nothing, just 
stared at me still smiling.
the dark river flowed past.
how in Paris, I’ve heard,
he used to give
a young André the Giant
a ride to school
in his tiny car.

*note: this poem was first published in issue six of The Literary Forest Poetry Magazine.