Sunday, August 7, 2011
Preparations For An Inland Burial
The maid at the funeral parlour offered me tea.
“English Breakfast? Earl Grey? Something nice and herbal?”
I said Darjeeling was what we drank at sea—
Brewed with the boiling briny—sweet memory!
“I’ll get some,” she said—her words were a sorrowful burble.
I took a shufti at the corpse. I’d sooner
It hadn’t been wearing its tiddley-suit. The past
Was another ocean, the ship was sinking fast,
And the future was aboard a different schooner;
Another crew, another flag, another mast.
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