This is the man who played football
This is the man who worked twelve hour days

Daytime television
That’s what he’s reduced to.

They said he’d die without the operation
What choice did he have?
His aorta (something to do with his heart)?
Don’t ask me what

Afterwards something was wrong
paraplegia they called it
living death he called it

This is the man who dug the garden
This is the man who mowed the lawn

He sits in front of that damn TV
A bitter, resentful husk of a man
He never liked reading much
And he can’t do his woodwork

This is the man who helped his neighbours
This is the man who painted our house

I cook his dinner
I cook his tea
He knocks over his drink
I clear up the mess
He lights up a fag
I sigh uselessly

This is the man who played with his kids
This is the man who laughed and had fun

The nurse comes to change his catheter
Undignified, uncomfortable, unwilling, unwanted

We pay for the rest
the Care Package they call it
a Rip Off I call it
We saved too much over the years, you see
Makes you think – what’s the point?

What about me?
I’m just a carer now
The wife with bunions and a bad back from lifting him

No one comes to visit any more
The kids don’t know what to say
They’ve got their own lives to lead

This is the man who looked after me
This is the man who watches daytime television

I don’t know what he’s thinking any more
We don’t talk
Nothing to talk about, I suppose

The doctor popped in
You can see he’s embarrassed
Another chesty cough
More antibiotics
Too much smoking he says

He’s watching daytime TV
This is the man I married
This is the man I loved