The remains of a life
Are stacked up ready to go –
A jumble of papers and files,
Large -fitting shoes and clothes,
Knick-knacks and furniture
No-one wants anymore.

Yet we still cling to
Old books and fading photographs,
A baby shoe and yellowing shawl,
Dried flowers from the wedding cake
And locks of hair,
All consigned to dusty drawers
And forgotten about,
With worthless jewellery
And pictures in ghastly taste
Which once meant something.

The seagulls circle over the tip
Squawking like vultures
Over the detritus of the world,
Whilst the crematorium
Makes a better bonfire.