no point (in weeping)

After the event
He wept. He promised a ‘new start.


I think back
to the beginning

so long ago . . .

just yesterday . . .

I can hardly remember
the old man passing
struggling to remain
his own man
against the lonely odds
of the first lock down
and his concrete lungs

before that
the old lady

how did it become
so long ago
so quickly

so unimportant
in the context of every day

did they
not live

were they some kind
of unalive

I remember . . .

I think I remember
when both of them
were the whole
of the world
outside the doorjamb
of my bedroom

turn around once . . .

turn around

it is all different

all of
is gone

both of them
are in the ground

beaten down
in the end


life goes on

not even
as a fresh start

just . . .


I suppose
I have

I suppose we all
have adapted

not much choice
about it

I wonder
if his passing –
during the heat and heartbreak
of new plague –
was a small marker
of all life
to that point
passing too

being buried
in the same
hole in the ground
with no mourners
to pay tribute

start again

start again

there is no point
to your weeping


4 thoughts on “no point (in weeping)

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