Out the back gate with his stick,
the dog;
wearing his gardening kecks,
an open-necked shirt,
and a jacket in Harris tweed I'd patched at the elbows myself.
Whistling.
He liked to hear
the first cuckoo of spring
then write to The Times.
I'd usually heard it
days before him
but I never let on.
I'd heard one that morning
while he was asleep;
just as I heard,
at about 6 p.m.,
Mrs Tiresias clearly is ahead of her husband in hearing the cuckoo, but leaves him with his delusions.
From Mrs Tiresias