We had a lovely time
At the horror-house.
I don’t quite remember
When, now, only
That it was the last day
The flowers bloomed
And the bluebells all but rang.
It was like attending
A colourfully black funeral.
There was a bite to eat
And plenty of mumbled platitudes.
Then it was over and that was that.



Peter Eustace lives in Verona, Italy, where he still works as a translator. Poems have appeared in many printed/on-line magazines, 2 bilingual collections, plus 1 chapbook and the latest full collection, Humanics (2019) with erbacce, Liverpool.