Everyone's gone quiet
It's either hope or despair
As the meat course is served
He remembers the morning, first thing
Before it came back clear.
They chose a parade, he'd have gone for silence
Allow the birds their twitter.

Later in the bar, (why must it be a bar?)
They sprawl behind dark glassed
He curls inside the meadows grasses

We drove home listening to the putter
Of a possibly failing engine
But we got home, picked up the mail and messages
He picked a flower for the table
As if routine were the great soother
As if routine could soothe

***

Later in the park she snowed as we shook her
And through the mobile phone muteness
Came what we swore was a whisper
Picked out in a sunny moment's respite
From this awful July weather