Webbed bins
Empty leather chair
The tired birds who refuse to sing,
A lonely walking stick and
The muffled cries from a neighbouring room.
Your bed dividing couches and tables,
Absorbing the living room
With an unaccompanied tick
And a flood of chrysanthemums.
Bold letterhead proclaiming condolence with
An air of regret of those who
Hadn’t the time
Hadn’t the chance
Hadn’t the effort
To for one last time
See your face
Chocolate roses excuse the crime
All too busy when all was fine.