A Poem for Mike.

The weekend has not gone as planned. I seem to be mired down, somehow, and not accomplishing very much. All I have done today is write-up the minutes of a meeting, sort through poems written for a friend whose funeral is tomorrow, and select a couple to read. They are not by me - I don't think I could bear that - but here is one by that famous guy, 'Anonymous', which I like very much.

I suppose I ought to explain that my friend Mike actually ticked - due to the titanium valve in his heart.

Snapshots.

Four years ago:
My head is being pressed
Against a stranger's chest.
Not quite what I was expecting
To the question 'What's that ticking?'
But then, this is Mike.

One year ago:
He shows us a wonky fairy
He's made out of Starbucks cup.
It's got a pipe-cleaner wings
And a blu-tack head,
And we laugh with delight because it is wonderful.

One year from now:
He's still around, dancing in the air and
Grinning in our heads.
This, still, is Mike:
And memories of him make us laugh with delight,
Because he was wonderful.