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You too Hated the Rain

You've lived without food for weeks father; and your belly makes noises as if you've swallowed a blackbird. The lollipop in your mouth is not a lollipop: its pink head is a sponge that once wetted allows you a tiny sip of water, a tiny wetting of your dry lips; the angels caring for you at home tell us that one of the signs that death is closer is when you stop drinking.
I hate funerals in the rain and the ululations of women. I hate the rending of hair and clothes, the setting fire to oneself to dive like a flaming comet onto a loved ones pyre.
Your funeral is on a perfectly sunny day; the horses that draw your coffin, -ensconced within the glass sided, crenelated, Victorian hearse- are beautiful. One is new to the task, the other, the more experienced one, keeps stamping its hoof for Polo-mints, the holder of the horses has packets of them in his pocket. I remember your little pony, Boudica, the pear drops we'd nick from your suit jacket.

21 Jun 18

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this is nicely rendered, like bacon, though a few bits of fat still remain. however, the sentiment is lovely, the imagery is colourful and alive, not at all dead.  swallowed a blackbird is my favourite but you have several slick moves in this piece.  thanks for sharing :)
 — jenakajoffer

Thanks for the read and post JK.
 — Bruiser

My pleasure. :)
 — jenakajoffer