Tuesday, 17 November 2020

heirloom in the room

heirloom in the room


so now my uncles are all dead

the tapestry of men is torn

thin and faded and degraded

the golden threads of laughter 

of the likely lads is drawn 

crumpled upon the floor

of this empty room 

for the would be mourners

the black suited men

are all dead too

not a thought rattles

over curled white sandwiches

only the whispered nods of the ladies 

crinoline antimacassar aspidistra 

a parlour dusted in a lonely sunbeam

wane upon a cup of weak tea

black dress gloves on a polished table

black lace veils on hats laid aside

the tide of conversation turns

around hat pins and other things

no one is the first to go as the clock chimes

silence leads the way as sadness falls

upon the thought that soon

soon maybe 

perhaps

another cup of tea and a cake






 

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