I don’t normally share this sort of thing online, simply because the internet makes plagiarism far too easy. But here’s a poem I wrote recently on the occasion of the office memorial service for a colleague…
So you died
and your colleagues are throwing a party
There are bouquets and canapés;
the boardroom’s done up like a church.
People wear black today
and don’t smile when I greet them
and walk around saying,
‘I’m no good at things like this…’
It seems I alone declined – respectfully –
and stayed at my desk
choosing not to do you the disservice
of pretending that I knew you
or ever spoke to you
or even cared.
Please don’t misunderstand:
I’m not happy that you’re gone
but how does it affect me
if I barely acknowledged you alive?
The feasting’s over now;
dried curling sandwiches
and bruised rose petals
are all that’s left behind
Yet for those who really did know you
and speak to you
and care about you,
I’m sure the gap you’ve left
is wide and raw and real.
You will be missed
by those whose lives you touched.