His perfectly timed punchline
In back, in black,
the blokes told jokes in the hearse
and what’s worse, I laughed
like a drain
swilling effluent to the sea.
When Peter Mater turned to me to say
“Has anyone told the stiffy joke yet?”
I hid my mouth beneath
the collar of my coat. Faux fur
tickled my nose, made me sneeze.
Reaching for the tissues, grandma patted my hand.
At the graveside, my belly vibrated
like a pneumatic drill
When in all seriousness
Alan Smith said,
“God, who digs graves?”
Gaunt faces but mine,
hidden between my knees.
My back convulsing. Mam’s
face frosted above me.
“Now, love,” she said, “tis God’s way!”
The wake, and no mistake,
was at number 54. Hers with the
42 double Ds and the secret
smile. And all the while
talking about a dead man
as though she knew him
better than Mam. Better
than Alan or Peter or me.
© Jacqui Thatcher 2015
2 thoughts on “Writing 201: Trust”
Do check out my latest post and fill me in with your thoughts as well: http://cheenithoughts.com/spotted/7-welcome-to-london/
Thank you! I certainly will pop over for a look! Jacqui 🙂