First published in Picaroon Poetry, issue 14
Standing at my window
in the autumn dusk’s cold flush,
in the autumn dusk’s cold flush,
a bird bearing black feathers.
She calls to me,
Remember that somewhere
on this earth lies a patch of land
waiting to devour your carcass.
If you’re lucky,
people at your funeral will weep
as they watch you sink into the soil,
if you’re lucky.
And those mourning will, in time,
be presented with the same fate.
And your humbled bones will decay
with the lingering memories of you.
And there’ll be no more opportunities
to face up to the things you fear.
She calls to me,
Remember that somewhere
on this earth lies a patch of land
waiting to devour your carcass.
If you’re lucky,
people at your funeral will weep
as they watch you sink into the soil,
if you’re lucky.
And those mourning will, in time,
be presented with the same fate.
And your humbled bones will decay
with the lingering memories of you.
And there’ll be no more opportunities
to face up to the things you fear.
This poem features in the collection Caffeine
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