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
