You lie peacefully now,
Ravaged by the growth within -
I saw the Grim Reaper harvest you by stealth,
Whilst Bacchus rested.
Your Raglan Road woman
Weeps copiously downstairs -
Your wife fears to enter.
Gallons of tea are swallowed
In teetotal rooms.
Horrible, Italianate sympathy cards
Disturb my prayer over you.
I kiss your sweaty forehead,
Embarrassingly recoil
As I realise the wet is Holy Water.
I pee in your toilet,
Scan your bathroom shelves
Where your throw away razor lies
Full of your bristles
Whilst you've become disposable.
Back in your room
Your banjoless fingers sit
Entwined in green Rosary beads
Never worn in life.
There was a time I wouldn't have come,
Now, I'm glad to be here.
The flickering candle breathes,
I breathe - you breathe elsewhere.
No stage here,
No pub fuelled chatter,
No bullets to bowl,
No close harmonies,
No mother to avoid,
No new dawning of your day.
nice job...vivid images that make it all very familiar...
A grim poem, but beautifully written...Death is always painful.....Thanks Joe for telling me about it...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Extremely touching! I am shedding a few tears! It was the anniversary of a death the other day! Here one min, gone the next! Thanks for sending me over to this poem! (bullets to bowl..... Fantastic expression)