I saw my Granddad’s ration

book once, held out to me

as a symbol of patient loss,

from the fall of the Canadian farmland

scrubbed dry and parched

in the ’36 Depression

to the bombs and shells

that descended, rained and flooded

around his Grandfather’s old fruit

and veg shop

opposite Stirchley baths;

in Time,

do I also hold out

the passing of this failed belief

in the form of a book

that we all must feel free

to express our gratitude,