That’s what they said at the end.
There was no point
They said, at the
end

No purpose, or
meaning

and
everything around
had been a big joke

an aesthetic decision
that nobody made

Amended 16 November 2020

And you
the sickest of all

action watching actions or
navigating text

eyes
editing truth
meaning
and the comments
of others

sicker
daily
than before

a growth on your foul head
and a wait, for
the fall

amended 16 November 2020

Wake.

My tail is
wagging and I
can smell something
good
which maybe
is my own arse

Noises from off, and I bark
and wag
and bark
whilst she or he breaks sleep

My favourite time of the day

I scratch at the door but no-one answers
so I circle and then sit, and
lie
and start to think about my life

My favourite contemplation

Till eventually – and ever so
exciting – they come in and
see me and i jump and they pat me
and then he leaves and she pours
liquid

and again

and then i jump again
because its my favourite part of the day
and she sits with me and
strokes my head and
tells me everything

And as it
goes on
today as before
I think that
maybe they don’t have
a favourite in their day

It was the the first late evening with
transport dragging them apart.

I have to go.

Existence summed, then
but no matter for
we can all ignore
the deterministic

It was lovely.

Holding close, lips
touch for the first
and a new journey.

Amended 16 November 2020

After the service was over

the family
all bar one
returned to the house

There’d been no break in
during the out
due in part to
the guardian neighbour

Did you hear
asked everyone
to everyone else
how the Vicar
made that awful speech

and they’d all heard
but agreed
that it was better than
the funeral, when her name
was wrong.

Tea, then and ham sandwiches.

You can’t bury a relative without
refreshments, and you have to
eat it from their own
best china

all afternoon and
into the night.
For, after all,
when else are we together but
marriages, and funerals

all other time being
our own
and the small world being so
big, when it really matters.

In the nightfall, having successfully
avoided seeing too many
ghosts
we drive home

voices quiet in the car
but aware, sometimes,
that this was
our final visit.

You may be right
you there, with
your wisdom higher than
mine, and the clarity of
distance to give
your own perspective

you may have
more to say
to reinforce or
shine, a light
of friendship
burning bright

sometimes
I may listen
understand, even
act
or at least try
against what you say

to no avail? You
think so, in your
subjectivity whilst
I justify statis
to myself

Meanwhile
you may be right.

Remember me
on this computer
with my passwords for web sites

and remember me
in the cache
a history of illicit looks

And is there
any other solution

to the likeness of
being trapped

out of control

aside from the obvious,
the repetitious
that is, to be

distracted again
from the moment
and then held by
a temporary fix

as the mind goes to rest
at least until the
next day
and again
then weekend
and the chance to
successfully complete
another segment of life