My First Funeral
There were no sing-along hits
Painstakingly picked for mix CDs
At the start of this sombre road trip
Just jabbering local DJs
Changing accents, same old chatter
As we crackled over each county’s boundary
From North West to South East
He driving and me counting junctions
Passing him pop
And squeezing his hand
As he rested it on his knee
At each red light
Travelling three hundred miles
To say goodbye
To a shut up box
With our friend inside
The cool countryside church was packed
With punks, Goths and freaks
Drawn to this village from countrywide
Disturbing the peace and quiet
Just how he would have liked
I managed not to cry
Until they brought him inside
Everyone as wearing his footie team’s sky blue
And once outside it was as if the sky knew
As even it obliged
And sky blue was all I could see for miles
Around the secluded field
Full of grey and white stones
And his box lowered into his hole
Surrounded by mounds of Earth
We stood in line
Under that blue sky
To say goodbye
To that shut up box
With our friend inside
After sing-alongs
And dancing down the motorway
We sat in his local
Toasting his memory
And reminiscing the rest of the day away
Drink blurred those unreliable memories we shared
Showing each other slightly more reliable
Memories we’d snapped up
In still-framed longevity
And we said goodbye
To an unlocked box
We could look inside
At any time
