Searching for abstruse philosophies
And finding only the ocean's rubbish;
That's often the way of it.
Lovers have used the shoreline
As their perfect stage, while old men
Find it's a place to walk their dogs
And think on what's to come.
For me, it's enough to hear
The crunch of silica underfoot;
The seditious gossip of the tide;
The outrageous mockery of gulls.
Shouldering my grandfather's coffin into the chapel
To lie overnight, I recall my father staaggering
Under its terrible weight of years
While I took it easily in my stride.
Mass was said, we crossed ourselves and left.
Next morning I returned to a house filled with strangers.
“Of course, you were there at the end,”
A great-aunt said, and then in whispered tones:
“Tell me … what were his last words?”
My father drew forwards in his chair.
“The bad penny aye turns up,” he said,
Then sloughed his whisky down.
When I made my excuses, my mother explained
I had a driving test that day.
Life goes on they all agreed.
While they were laying the old man to rest,
I was failed for doing forty in a built-up area.
“An offence,” the instructor said.