St Andrew's Day, 1985
In Memory of P.H.G.
St Andrew's Day, blind November fumbling The hurt leaves, bleached gutter orphans.
Half-light domesticates raw brick.
A mediocre day, not to be remembered.
It's 2 p.m. at Ladbroke Grove. I board a bus.
The mourners are gathering at Glengarriff.
Is it drizzling there? I hear the rain Touchtyping an elegy on the Bay waters.
Though in her will she said 'no flowers' Our daugher will place veronica on the coffin Borne through the woods to the. Old Killeen.
Will the funeral go to plan, discreetly, Even in, the drizzle I imagine falling On the lands of Gael and Planter?
I say a London goodbye to a lost wife, Remember our time of roses, promises, The silvered sea at Ardnagashel, Earrings of fuchsia in the hedgerows Hope arching like a rainbow over all. The dream of love enchanted me.
I slam the door on the intruder, memory, Rush to the suburbs of the heart.
Robert Greacen
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