from Coronaworld
we go to
our friend David’s funeral
in a cemetery north of Barrhead
there are more than
the authorised number of mourners
but everyone thinks what the hell
we’re going to say farewell
whether they like it or not
death goes on regardless
of parliamentary decrees
panicky proclamations
people spaced well apart
except for the close family
who cling to each other
as real as can be
a mound of earth
beneath a tarpaulin
what a moment
it is to die
we drop roses
into the open grave
they fall out of sight
they’re probably still
falling
there’s a hint of sun
and sometimes rain
someone made a quick film
of a young roe deer
with its cute horns
at the junction of
Buchanan Street
Bath Street
at six in the morning
nothing else awake
except a landing pigeon
and the worker who saw it
from the doorway
of Sainsbury’s
it probably came
from the Necropolis
about three quarters
of a mile away
to see what’s happening
with the human race
city of the dead
city of the living
it’s listening
outside a Rolex shop
but it’s not wearing a watch
and doesn’t have any money
to buy one
it’s a wonderful world
it isn’t afraid
I wouldn’t hang around
for too long little deer
run all the way
home to the gravestones
the two-legs
are coming back