The Silence
The first thing is the silence
I had grown used to the heave and slush
Of your barrel organ lungs
The gasps and sips of air
To see you in silence is the greater shock
9am
Ambulance paramedics assess you
Kindly, confident, they ask my guidance
Me
I look to you, eyes red with rheum
Mouth gurgling through the mask
And understand what you would want
Bereft on a trolley you are speaking to me
In no known language
Stateless, marooned in air
They wheel you to your chariot
11am
A voice on the phone
This is Doctor someone
Consultant something
From somewhere
Your father…
Unlikely to…
Perhaps hours…
Maybe…
We will…
12am
A voice on the phone
Doctor someone again
Are you..? Son of..?
I have to…
Has…
I am sorry for your loss…
I will now transfer you
To the Bereavement Counsellor
Beep beep…
Hello…
2pm
The first thing is the silence
I had grown used to the heave and slush
Of your barrel organ lungs
The gasps and sips of air
To see you in silence is the greater shock
You have been newly carved in soap
Reborn in alabaster
An old general lying in state
On a plain hospital catafalque
Your upper lip is fallen without dentures
And even after death
You still have more hair than me
Tufted and punk crazy angled
Should I speak? To whom? To what end?
I murmur something about a long life
I say I will look after mother
I pace a bit
Wonder if I should take a photo
I don’t
Then I remember the suit you showed me
Your funeral suit you said
The black pinstripe mobster suit
I shall find a white shirt and a tie for you
What colour?
Blue
Of course
And shoes? Shoes in the coffin?
Debrett’s unclear on this cramped etiquette
Can one go to the grave in socks?
I kiss your forehead.
Surprisingly not cold.
Your eyes remain shut.
Black pinstripe.
A good suit for eternity