Probably nothing.

It was such a simple question.

We laughed that you couldn't remember

what you'd had for lunch.

Probably because you'd been at the 'biscies' again,

And had your usual cornetto as a breakfast 'afters'.

It was probably that.

Probably.

And nobody else

caught it

but me of course,

the slowing of your hand

as you reached for your cup.

A sudden smallness to your frame

that I tried to ignore

but could not.

A shrinking once-giant

miss-cloaked with a frailty

that wasn’t there before.

Not yesterday at least.

Or did the child in me disregard it?

Because suddenly,

I am 8.

It is Sunday night again

and time for bed

and I do not want to go.

I do not want to not be with you.

And for you to be not with me.

For I am not ready for this epilogue,

for this day,

these days,

all days

to end.

So, it was probably nothing.

Probably.