Gareth’s Wake
The toot of your horn as you drove past fell silent
in the shunt and crush,
the hand that waved, a useless shield. My cup cracked
with the news, pulsed dark coffee. Your parents
wanted you home one last time, to touch your hand, look out
and see you walking in the fields.
We ate and drank and remembered; the only
thing missing, the crown of the day, was you.
The summer sun buried itself behind a hill.
A car spilled out your English Cousins
who would have been here earlier, but
they had turned up some other greened-in-the-middle road
joined the higgledy-piggle of cars in a rush to condole
didn’t recognise anyone it had been a long time
clucked vague sympathy with tea went to pay their respects
backed out.
Gareth, we laughed until we cried
at some old man lying in your coffin
and then cried, knew how much
you’d have loved it.
Nikki Robson holds an MLitt in Writing Practice and Study and writes life poetry. She has been published in several anthologies. Her work observes life and often finds a warm and witty side to otherwise bleak situations. From Northern Ireland, she now lives in Angus with her husband and children. As well as writing poetry, Nikki enjoys tutoring and creative community involvement.