Desmond was a tosser and a flicker.

Desmond did not ask me to make a portrait of him. Desmond never asked for anything. I did it anyway and he thought it was kind.

We often chanced upon each other at midnight or thereabouts, under the streetlamp at the crossroads, no matter whether it was a full moon or dark as a gravedigger’s spade. Me with my stinky dog snuffling under the hedge, he alone puffing on a cigarette. Usually French. Squinting at shadows and stars through what remained of his spectacles, bandaged hinges, precariously balanced.

He was a master and inventor of things electronic, an archetypal genius. A singular human being who knew what made every vital spark. No kindness was too great for his off-kilter heart.

Desmond, you bequeathed us the fag butts you tossed at the base of our meeting post. We could not preserve them. But, like you, they are not dead, merely misplaced.

We miss you.

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Picture: “Desmond” – By Rod McRiven. Fine Art prints are available. The frame shown is for illustration.
References: The Royal West of England Academy

© Rod McRiven 2024