It's the sunshine brings them out,
young-old men in panamas.
A bit of ribbon round the rim
makes them look like they belong
to something. Bowls maybe,
or a cricket club.
Whatever it is,
they keep an eye on us.
They stand up straight
through minutes' silences
and watch for us to falter,
glance away.
The men in sunshine hats
remember everything
their elder brothers
wanted to forget,
hold on hard to everything.
They're careful not to stagger
as they leave the bus, look round
and with their young-old eyes,
the men in panamas,
they challenge us.
© Rosie Garner
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