I think about Shane in the middle of the night,
For no apparent reason.
No telegraph arrives to remind me.
Just immediately caught unawares,
By the timeline of months days and hours,
Since he left.

There is substance to his departure.
He doesn’t park in my spot anymore,
His seat on the couch is empty,
His opinion is not heard,
He doesn’t come with us to the matches,
He doesn’t eat hotdogs at half time,
He doesn’t buy his round anymore.

There were many beginnings to his departure.
Some noticed and some dismissed,
The shaved head,
The weight gain,
The staying in bed,
The tiredness,
The missed team practice,
His soft quietness rather than his razor wit.



There was a documented record to his departure.
The consultant’s diagnosis.  
The recorded return of the tumor like a badly made film sequel,    
Chemo 1, Chemo 2, Chemo3.
The morphine drip beating out the measuring of the waiting.
The finite final breath.
Our hearts stopped with his as he departed the room,
Dressed in a suit and Despicable me Socks ….Only you Shane!
The Final notice in the paper recording the date and time of departure.  

There were things left behind after his departure.
Mainly my daughter’s young heart.
As I lie awake in the darkness where death accompanies me till the dawn,
And then as one bright day follows the next,
I dismiss my own departure,
Until I think of Shane again.