The dreaded phone call, after midnight tolls,
no good comes from that plastic portent machine when day has passed.
Frantic messages about loved ones lost
Taxi journeys to places filled with sorrow,
thinking magical thoughts, if i don’t believe, it can’t be so...
Night black buildings pass in a blur, tears choked back and bright glassy chat with a cheery driver.
The world, indifferent to a families shared plight,
eyes bright and brittle soaked with unshed tears, time a plenty for that later.
Then later comes in a melee of grief and sandwiches and handshakes,
sorrow and sympathy spooned down the grief raw throat.
Melancholy memories of happier days long past and silent episodes between visits.
Dull half remembered talk of place and people now lost to time and sad bitter reflection
A box, a suit, a man. No life to stir the still hand.
A keening sorrow.
A mass, a time to think, to wish for a different day,
then a box lifted in the air by stooping, shaking shoulders.
A walk, the terror of a stumble and then it's all done.
A life ended and a time and place fled to memory and bittersweet recollection.
