Buttons

He got the top one done and then he stopped,

and he looked at his own hands for a second

like they belonged to somebody who'd let him down.

And I said "here" — just "here" — and I did the rest,

standing nearer to him than I've been in thirty years,

the pair of us looking somewhere over each other's shoulder.

He was the one who taught me how to knot a tie,

stood behind me at a mirror, hands over mine,

impatient, a bit rough, absolutely certain,

and he did it four times till I had it.

Same room. Same mirror.

Everything else the other way round.

So I'm working out how to help him

without making him smaller in the helping.

Do it fast. Do it plainly. Talk about something else while you do it.

Never once say "let me".

Say "here". "Here" is the whole trick.

He taught me that too, years ago, and never knew he was teaching it.

Just buttons. (just buttons)

And I'd do it every morning of my life

and never call it a burden once.

He did it for me for eighteen years.

That's the arrangement. That's how it goes.