Elegy

here we are, loosely assembled

like old furniture in tidy clothes

as near as damn it black

to neatly parcel off another,

–

secretively we peruse the turnout

and of course, the grieving

gaunt-faced family members

forced together at the front,

–

with nothing more to see

we consider, as art connoisseurs

the easel and a portrait

of the recently departed

set neatly to the side,

each of us thinking, not saying

how long since it was captured,

the background and 

unseasonal weather a give-away,

–

trite recollections of a life then follow

that no-one will remember later

spilling out like counterfeit coins

tumbling down a drain,

–

these precede the toe-curling tunes

three old smash-hits each destined

for heaven or hades, it all depends,

–

then the after-tea, some come back

the cleverest don’t, 

for those that do the angst of knowing

when to politely take their leave,

for a long drive home, juggling

memories and remember whens

*

© Graham R Sherwood 03/23