News of a funeral
the passing of a life
memories dredged to lay damply on the surface of the mind
some things spring quickly, so clearly
the horse bets
countless puffed cigarettes
gravelling voice
like tyres running across nicotine stained vocal chords
and the way he stood of a morning
one arm folded across his belly
the other holding the paper
rocking back on his heels
as if he had all the time in the world
and he always seemed to
other recollections emerge like Polaroid film
through the course of days between news and grave
he told a lot of jokes
many I’d heard before
but there was something in the way he sparkled
that I had to laugh regardless
which only encouraged more
I thought of our lives and where they intersected
I had grown so much older in between
but in that moment here I was again
nineteen, twenty, thirty-four
standing silently by a grave
tossing down prayers and thoughts
to a dear old friend
who couldn’t hear me anymore
*his mates called him Blossom, an incongruous name at best, to me he was Martin but the title seemed apt. Blossoms leave the tree, so do we.
