Poet Called Rice
[Wilfred Hanna Pinder,
29 September 1936
to 27 December 2007]

never got to encounter
T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound
William Carlos Williams
Ted Hughes, Sylvia Plath
I did

he knew and loved Khalil Gibran
discovered Rod McKuen later
poets I’ve not read in years

used to own recordings
of McKuen's poems and his songs
I've not read Rice either for some time

used to love him like a brother,
like a father, especially his laughter

how without fear he was
used to be a policeman
used to dress up, used to travel

for years he used to drive a cab
years ago, he lost a leg

how changed he was, sad
when initially he was
such happy company

O was he mischievous
he is my daughter Jewel’s
godfather, I’d forgotten

that Sunday in December,
Church of the Good Shepherd
the meal which followed

we had raisin duff
I’d not had before
I’ve not had since
made and served
by Fr. Adderley's wife

now Wilfred Hanna Pinder,
whom we called Rice,
is finished eating now

we can break our plates
or wash them, it doesn’t matter

I wonder where his son is
his father call him Tiger,
I hope he’s burning bright


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
2:14 a.m. 04.01.08