The impact of death.
I cook something tasty
most nights, he said,
Treats and trials
and she sits on my shoulder
and tells me ‘You batty bugger!’
You should have chopped
and fried til they are soft,
and he goes on lightly listening
to her cheery censorship
which was absent
in the old life,
but keeps her close
in the new.
——————————
It darted again
Looking inside the empty container
dangling soulfully,
vacant.
He died.
And in leaving
they lost their friend
from whose hand
kindly and continually
they were fed.
—————————————–
She held herself rigid in the dark,
his hand held hers under the covers
and she listened to his breathing,
It was not a drifting dream
but a rock reality that made
it tolerable.
—————————
I cook something tasty
most nights, he said,
Treats and trials
and she sits on my shoulder
and tells me ‘You batty bugger!’
You should have chopped
and fried til they are soft,
and he goes on lightly listening
to her cheery censorship
which was absent
in the old life,
but keeps her close
in the new.
