It was an ordinary, wet north Manchester night
Of solid rain, unremittingly wet. And cold.
When, suddenly, all the rivers of all the world stopped flowing
And all the summer colours leached away and never returned.
And the wind so cold and stings like hell
And sky descends into the well of unforgiving.
And you're not here.

And the blackness is deep, so deep, and remains so deep
When the doctor
Tells us: 'there is no function, he is dead.'
I carry him into the mortuary
Past the lucky family
With the sick child
Who look worriedly at us
As if they fear the contagion of death.

I feel like shouting: 'It aint infectious,
And, anyway, what’s your God got to do with it?
 Except cause it. Huh?' 

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