Grey Ford Transits
slip through our streets
carrying carcase cargoes,
carrion consignments.
They scurry around our towns
unnoticed
taking away what was once egg and sperm.
Grey, the colour of doubt.
The right colour.
No doubt about it.
Ford for the crossing of the river.
The traffic on the Styx has never ceased.
Transit for transition.
Apprenticeship served,
parochial no more.
It's a big universe.
You should try living round the corner from a funeral parlour :)
Fascinating idea for a poem Dave - because death is fascinating - horrible but fascinating.
Those ford transits are always temperature controlled and have little chiller fans on the top - which conjures up all kinds of horrid thoughts.
I like the way you tie life and death together in this - the fact that death was once eggs and sperm. Also the big question you end on...
A BIG theme for such a mundane seeming title Dave! i like the way the last stanza takes nothing for granted, yet asks a simple question. Maybe "they are BIG universe(s)! Some neat linkages in there too.
Regards,
A.E.
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Philipos
Thu 11th Oct 2012 19:25
Hi Dave, certainly thought-provoking. I guess its as Isobel suggests, those chiller fans get the mind twirling. A subject that never fails to fascinate.