Death Certificate Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Date of death: seventh day of the seventh month
Inside my hollowed heart Grief howls like a wolf
No mother should ever have to bury her son

People are queuing to pay their council tax, their rent
They are booking their weddings,
Processing their parking vouchers

Outside the sun is smiling her callous smile
You are forty years old, tattooed and scarred
By the plague that hounds your hunted generation

You ticked perfection's boxes when you were born
My petal- lipped boy, my dark-eyed lissom charmer
No passport needed for this onward journey
Leave footprints in the clouds for me to follow