Mr Kambis

it was 77..Hyde Park Corner, London
seven of us in your beat up Capri
an abandoned getaway car parked 
with all doors open ..we squeezed in
a KFC..
 one of your favourites..along
with Coca Cola.. you had a thing
about the USA, 
you told  and showed us many things
which fell
on fledgling  British grass
from your strange land of Farsi
with music sacred from Isfahan
(Scottish bagpipes out of key)
you drive like someone 
possesed..it was quite scarey
but we loved you then
and now..you have made us
far better than you  know
with you stories of a magic land
where Sultanas and Pistacheo grow
how to eat pomegranetes..
tales of snakes and hornets
and how Iranians take tea
which is delightful
that men are so sweet and respectful
and offer sweet meat and courtesies
to young English Girls
at that point we grew.
into true English Roses
with the respect a man from the land of Farsi
gave his family
You loved it here, you became a British Citizen,
although you made it clear,  life under
The Shah before the revolution
was good..and rich and fastly furious
and in search of further education
on our shores you came to us
I plaited the waft and weave of that
persian rug when I was fifteen..for
my brother..my brother in this wondrous life
you said..it would make the carpet last
a little longer..and it did with my nimble
girlish fingers it coloured me well
over the years..everbody loved you
London, Paris, Dubai they ate your
wonderful food Mr Kambis
maybe, you learned a little off the Coronel?
now..the last time I saw you before Christmas
you knew..
and you knew I knew
after forty years..we hugged and we knew
that maybe this was..the last time
the greyness and the years do not
fade the forever embellishment that you gave 
I can now cry when I think of you..instantly
I could utilise this trick..and become an actress
which only you would laugh at that..
Bear...I don't need to embroider anything about you
my sister's husband.