At the funeral they cried,
So much sadness pouring out, it was a surprise
To know they’d hated him whilst he was still alive.
But so it goes, the bottled up years of grief given relief,
The pain of loss, that bollocking from the boss,
All those months of feeling cross
And times you had to lie,
All, all comes pouring out
In one long cry.
At the funeral they tried
To think of the man who’d died,
But found they cried most easily
For themselves.
June 2002
A short and rather cynical poem about people at funerals who aren’t close to the ‘departed’ and who delude themselves as to why they’re upset
