The funeral celebrant
He didn’t know him, of course
The deceased
Instead he stitched together
a homespun
Cloth of many hues
A wifely tale or two
A child’s distant memories
A mate’s amusing anecdote
He didn’t know him, the deceased
Wasn’t privy to inside info
Couldn’t know the fault lines
Of a flawed and fractured life.
He wasn’t told the truth, of course
Didn’t have much to go on.
And so
Platitudes land flatly in our laps
Sphynxes, we sit complicit
Willing belief
Cliches jar
Disturbing dissonant
Weasel words pool between our chairs
As we let them slide
Untouched
The bad is cancelled today,
Only the good remains
He didn’t know him
Of course
This version of his life is ours to swallow
He couldn’t know we’d choke inside
Or hear the silent screams of indignation
No! He was not like that.
He was not like that at all.