The Sea of the forgotten
At the restaurant eating liver with onion gravy
I looked around a busy place lunch in Portugal
is a jolly affair and it is ok, with children about.
In about hundred years’ time, not one of us in
the room would be alive those who lived long
would be rotting like the rest of us skeletons,
memories of good lunches lost in the big zero.
We are the lucky ones great statesmen will get
a statue in a dusty park on which seagulls crap,
only cleaned on national days.

It is so difficult man to fathom that death is
end of time the world does not exist, history
is only good for dates when kings were born
and the day they passed away, zilch about you
and me because we are the lucky ones