Our train comes to a standstill
looking down on a bluebell graveyard

where lines of tall green headstones stand
shoulder to shoulder, arms length apart.

The ones near the wall lean
on each other, like friends,

as in life. Carole says each one of those
upright stones is a person, standing,

looking right back at us asking what do we do
now? I ponder that thought.

Carole wants Coldplay’s, Why Worry going
in and Eminem’s, Lose Yourself as people are leaving.

She holds me responsible.
She doesn't want flowers, they always make her sneeze.