twenty years ago or more
Phil lived over the road
I’d see him smoking by his door
and I’d stop to say hello

he’d had a difficult marriage
did something in mechanics
he’d built a kiln in his garage
taught himself ceramics

I bought a saki cup he’d thrown
glazed in white and purple
the image of two fishbones
swimming in a circle

eventually we moved away
I lost all touch with him
till I saw him out in the street one day
and I called out: Phil! It’s Jim!

he said It’s nice to see you friend
and – sorry if it seems bizarre
but I drank such an awful lot back then
I’ve no clue who you are

eventually I read by his face
he couldn’t stay much longer
I felt like a sad, insistent wraith
he hadn’t the strength to conquer

                     * * * 

a few months later, tidying up
thinking ten things or more
I accidentally dropped Phil’s saki cup
and it shattered on the floor

I thought I could glue it together
so I collected every trace
and noticed for the first time ever
the letter P on the base