Contains themes of death and funerals.
Reader discretion is advised.
The mute occupants in the
Backseat fluster, gasp at the ticking of
Each second; the ordinary ominous
Traffic, when they reach the dull medicine
Induced compartment for the loved one, the
Families will gather in clusters. Put aside
The disagreements and resentment, maybe just
For once. Just for their sake. Just for helplessness
And vulnerability. Just for mortality. For
Afterlife. For faith. For their children and their
For the time being the occupants sit mute
And helpness, over the ambulance sirens,
The muffled noise of the banal chaos of a
World around them on shuffle. The ageing mother,
a relied husband, lay there on the powdery crumbled
plastic leather, struggling for their breath, A woman sits
By their side, daring not break down
Supporting a wrist of pulse, with a hand
Rubbing her thumb. With God in her breath
As the sirens sing. Or so I imagine.