A handful of dirt

[Keith]

My white shirt wouldn't fasten at the kneck
so I filled the gap with a large black knott
It should have just been a glance
across a crowded bar, a nod to the wise
and a pint half raised.
We were never any good with words.

A mound of fake grass masks the reality
of freshly dug earth. You’ve been hiding
while the word spread, flowers darkened
and everyone who knew you was your friend.

Finally you arrive, I think of fulcrums
and moments as little Joey shoulders
all your weight again. I don’t recognise you
as they speak of a child becoming a young man,
but I can see you glisten in your mothers eyes.

Later we’ll bring you back to life
with good whisky and songs, sell each other stories
of how it always was with you.
I’ll see you across the crowded bar, raise my glass
and you’ll know
we were never any good with words.