Final Journey
The room, with its medically sanitized smell,
was cool, bright and airy.
There in the middle, covered with a white plastic sheet, he lay.
On top, the poesy of buttercups and bluebells,
now wilted, was still with him.
Clothes, picked by close family and friends,
were neatly laid on a table nearby.
‘I have come to dress you for your final journey, and…
‘And, I am scared! Scared Graham! Scared…
‘How do I do this final act?
‘All I feel is fear…
‘Fear of you as a stiff corpse…
‘Fear that you might resist…
‘Fear that I will let you down…
“Oh, come on Dad! Fearless remember…
“You dressed me as a baby…
“You can do it for me now!
“Heartless though I am.”
‘Respect’, was the word, as Paul and Colin
donned blue plastic aprons and blue plastic gloves.
Following their lead, I too donned the plastic,
but then removed the gloves.
No barrier was to come between a father’s hands
and his son’s dead body.
The flowers and plastic sheet were removed,
Revealing the body of what was, a healthy young man.
A strip of plaster hid the post-mortem.
Cold to touch and rigor-mortis all gone,
The black vest was first to be threaded on.
One arm and then the other was gently raised, and gently lowered,
And the vest was carefully pulled over his head.
His whole body was then gently rolled;
Rolled first to the left, and then rolled to the right,
And the vest worked down. Mottled shirt, matching tie, black jacket and Chinos all followed, until last of all, socks and shoes.
A plain wooden Cotswold coffin was wheeled in…
Gently, we three raised him… and,
Gently, we three lowered him in…
Appearing now peaceful it was a job well done.
Being left alone, father bent down and gently kissed his dead son…
“I had no time to rail ‘against the dying of the light’…
“I had no time to rage against my final ‘Good night'”…
‘…Good night Graham, my lad… …Good night’, I said;
‘Perchance you’ll dream’… he said.
by Keith Davies
Read more at: http://blogs.myspace.com/kgdavies
