Milk and Honey

They'd tried to take the sting out of death
A grassy meadow, secluded plot, trees
Which are often exactly what we need
But not now. Now we needed a New Orleans
Blues band blasting out the fact that life is short
And can be glorious, but not for Jim. No, not for Jim.
Too many desertions.Too many lapses in care.
Too often nobody there to help him pick up the pieces.
To begin again, it all became too much
The bottle was always there: hidden behind the sofa,
Or stuffed under the stairs. And then his mother
Died and the whole world became a lie.
Buried in Cheshire with the ashes of his mum
And their final two dogs. What's more to say?
He's gone far away.

 

◄ For Kassia: a bold and beautiful Byzantine poet

The time of our lives ►

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