Sunset over the Wey

Got the camera back from cleaning but there's still a spec - grrrr! Went out on to the marshes and watched the barn owls but no pics today. A sunset instead, and a cheery poem. I found the beginnings of this in an old notebook so thought I'd better finish it off before I'm finished off. It's called:

A municipal death

I fear a municipal death,
My last breath on Earth,
Filed in a certificate,
Rubber stamped in triplicate.

Cold as a buxted chicken,
Laid on a sliding shelf,
Bar-coded, toe-tabbed,
Giblet sealed and nylon bagged.

Silent, grey and frosted,
Stiff as the steel tray,
Screaming indifference,
Muted for my audience.

Bury him, no burn instead,
It's cleaner now he's dead,
His wishes are adjustable,
And perfectly combustible.

The frame of flesh and bone,
Around which draped a life,
Roasts in human conflagration,
Toasted in a ritual celebration.

The council makes a note,
Another life statistic,
Tick-boxed and crossed,
A good result and nothing lost.


My old mate, Denis Kilcommons, was in touch today, reminding me about a blog he'd written on my fondness for open-toed sandals. What's wrong with that?