A Friend Dying
by Clare
Girvan
clare@raygirvan.co.uk
In youth, would he
have wished to die
Gloriously, at
speed,
Tragically tangled
in metal,
His name in the papers?
Or with greater
wisdom,
Beloved husband,
peacefully closing down
A life well done, with rightful ceremony?
Not like this;
Sear as a tobacco
leaf,
Shrunk sapless onto
his big bones,
Tucked childlike into medical sheets
Amid a foolish exuberance
Of roses, iris,
pinks and fiery marigolds;
Caught helpless between worlds
Like a fine tree,
falling, falling.
Out in the street
The sweet young
girls he loved
Swing by,
brave-breasted in brief summer tops,
And for form's sake
only
And in loving memory
He touches the arm
of the pretty nurse
Who brings the tea.
©2008 Clare Girvan
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