Hello Goodbye – Again

‘Hello, Dutch,’ I say,

as an old friend’s music

plays on my phone,

his voice recorded 

full of vigour,

then.

The years are not so long,

though long enough, 

since the world lost you.

A little longer still since you and I

made what we knew 

were our last goodbyes.

It was Bill we said goodbye to

that night (your old mate, 

my ex – whom you knew 

even longer than I did) 

and you sang for him, for us all, 

one final time.

And the little boys

were men already,

whose birthday parties 

you used to bring songs to: 

‘Oh the fox went out

one chilly night …’

hunched over your guitar,

swaying slightly,

tapping your toe, 

eyes bright. ‘Play

St James’ Infirmary’

Bill would beg … and you did.

After the wake, you and I 

in a quiet corner

reminisced, as the stragglers

packed up, and we briefly

exchanged the new facts

of our lives. 

Then we nodded and parted,

the link between us gone,

shared memories laid to rest.

As you were too, at last,

sixteen years later. (Living far,

I didn’t attend your wake.)

I like to imagine you and Bill

meeting and yarning somewhere 

now, as you did. Meanwhile 

I say hello again 

to you, your well-known voice,

and all those memories.

Sharing with Poets and Storytellers United on 18  July '25, for Friday Writings #186: Survive Out of Spite. But I can't find any spite in me today, and there are other ways of surviving, such as in the memories of friends. (Dutch, being a celebrated muso – not top of the pops but with a devoted following in both Australia and Holland, and admired by the American bluesman Brownie McGhee who became his friend – also survives in his recordings and their appreciation by blues-lovers.)