Today, men came to take his bed away,

the remains of his crown of thorns so it would seem.


Yesterday, like the day before, strewn like

the seeds of a sunflower corona,

lay shepherd crook shaped drinking straws.


Tomorrow, they will still remain; a reminder of his need for water.


On the nightstand, below a shelf laden

with books and the bible of a non-believer,

is an empty glass; used to soak the teeth

which went with him into the fire.


She remembers his pain, and thirsts.


Today the telephone, of late so hushed, rang.

It was a man who asked, just when she could

‘pop along’ to collect his oak casket.


She carried it away; his crushed bone shadows close to her ribs.


Soon, men will come to take down the For Sale sign,

and she wonders, other than the lime scale

encrusted water glass,  just what would

be left of him that others could see.


Edited version of a poem by Talia Hardy


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