At the funeral -
My friend’s father has been cremated.
(Cancer, diagnosed two months ago)
Grey clouds provide a blanket for
The world below, thick and moist
The bright light of the sun having to
Diffuse through the thickly, sickly summer cloud,
To illuminate the crematorium a
Drab grey grim grey complexion
No rain yet, at least.
My friend stares at the damp concrete
Ground, we’re waiting for the car.
Around us it’s a little like a drive-through
One party comes, deposits the coffin, sits
Around a little while and sings the songs
Of their fathers, and the next party follows.
My friend, marble white and shivering from
Grief, tired-eyed like a soldier at the Somme
Looks down, looks down in resignation
But then he says: “Did you hear about the one
When a vicar asked his wife at her 98 year old
Husband’s funeral how old she was? She said
’96, hardly worth going home is it?’
And he look at me, and I waited a moment
He laughed.
I laughed too.
“My dad told me that one” he says smilingly.
“Pint?” he says
“Sure” I say
And suddenly, things don’t seem so bad.
Author notes
Written a few hours ago. Constructive crit always good.
Comments
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Very nice. A good focus on the time and place, I like particularly 'thickly sickly' and 'drab grey grim grey' which echo of Dylan Thomas for me, and the sadness of 'looks down, looks down'.
I like the way the focus moves from general description to human, and the telling of an odd joke is a true reaction to the emotional challenge of a loved one's funeral. The poet shows a nice touch, light and deft. -
Awesome write
I like your style. Down to earth. Simple language. No pretense.
Keep it up. Return the favor?
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I love this poem i can't believe you have only been writing for a little while this poem is so beautifully sad it makes me happy to read it
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