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Poetry

D W Evans – 1 poem

A Bequest

 

My Grandad left me his coffin.

He often told me so.

It was solid wood he said

tongue and groove, deposit down.

When my time came they could turf

him out and pour me in.

Only right I should take a turn.

 

He was a widower too long

without a dog for company

and missed Nana mightily.

 

Every Friday after fish for lunch

cooked by himself and paired

with stout and buttered stottie

he would lie out on the village green,

flat on his back if the weather was mild,

playing dead after the antique style

of stone knights in musty churches.

A teddy at his feet to simulate

the usual faithful thing

a lion lost to time or even a pig.

 

When Grandad died for real

I told my coffin tale. Still,

they went ahead and cremated him.

 

🍃

 

 

D W Evans

By Heavenly Flower Publishing

Bindweed Magazine publishes two anthologies each year: Midsummer Madness and Winter Wonderland. Bindweed is run as a not for profit, labour of love endeavour by an author/poet couple: Leilanie Stewart and Joseph Robert. Bindweed can be found at https://bindweedmagazine.wordpress.com

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