Those Marches

 

When  they play those marches

and the drums tip away, 

I think of Brendan

alone in his sitting room,

flicking channels,

news to news;

dinners collecting on the table. 

When they play those marches

and the drums tip away, 

I think of Peter

who hated cameras;

his reflection

in the mirror

between the bottles. 

 

When they play those marches

and the drums tip away, 

I think of Tom

who asked for a present

on his death bed;

I didn’t have one,

no one else came. 

When they play those marches

and the drums tip away, 

I think of John

who asked me to visit,

gentlest man

I’ve ever known;

I didn’t.  

When they play those marches,

play those marches;

when they play those marches,

the drums tip away.