A Story In Marble (Poetry)

There they are — under marble — in the afternoon sun
the major and his sister (the really clever one)
in neat beds spaced apart in the family plot
and cool silence tucks round — you could hear a pin drop.

There’s been no expense spared, every corner cut square
the engraving’s precise — that strict regimented air
and any old rivalry is levelled by death
arguments diffused due to present lack of breath.

Who knows how well they sleep? Their stones stretch stiff and
proud.
Newcomers say their dates — they stand out from the crowd
seemingly aloof — as though neither can accept
what they’ve come to is this — no alternative left.

We leave them to the autumn’s red sun sinking low
shadows creeping slantwise and one tomb-hopping crow.
The major and his sister in their prim single graves
reflecting in the twilight on their less-than-Christian ways.