they stood at the graveside
icy February winds
sleet near horizontal
wrapped tight against the cold
feet sinking slowly in the mud
sad for the dearly departed
truly heart-broken
but mostly thinking of the pub
a roaring fire, a glass of .....
and getting warm again, please

a particularly viscious blast
the vicar's glasses fly
bouncing off the coffin
splashing in the mud
six feet under
he carries on trying hard
to remember the words
he stumbles to a halt
looks up, around
trying to focus on blurry faces
raises his hand in blessing
'for what we're about to receive ......'

10th February 2025