Coming home

Coming Home.

 

Silence falls

in streets already quiet

as the procession negotiates the junction,

passes the Chinese takeaway, the newsagents,

the greengrocer.

 

The tenor bell tolls dolefully

from St Bartholomew’s tower.

The undertaker walks slowly, steadily,

before the hearse, his undertaker’s walk,

wearing his undertaker’s hat, carrying

his undertaker’s stick, as a regal sceptre,

with solemn dignity.

 

Inside there is a glimpse of the coffin,

draped with the union flag.

 

UP

rings out the command,

and standards are raised as the cortège halts

briefly, as respects are paid,

salutes are offered,

whilst the family look on in numb bewilderment.

 

DOWN

then off again at the same measured pace,

past the ancient Butter Market,

through the Saxon town.

 

Brize Norton, Lyneham, once more give up the dead,

as yet another young soldier comes home

through the silent streets

of Wootten Bassett.

 

(Published in Reach Poetry 138, March 2010)

 

 

 

 

Done