Paying Their Respects (Poetry)

Afterwards they come back here
and sit around
a little awkwardly and chat
lounge on my furniture

I watch them through the window
a stranger now to my own life
they drink from my cups
and I hear my name —
I’m being talked about

I’m glad there’s no weeping
and most have a keen appetite
they tuck in to the buffet
like grief has given an edge
                                to their hunger

Somehow it isn’t how I thought
                                it would be —
this gathering of those I knew
most of whom barely know each other
I was their common link
                                and now I’m gone
(or so they think)
no one indicates they sense me hovering near

Is it ghoulish to spy on one’s own funeral?
I was simply curious to see who’d show their face
attendance better than expected
the absentees predictable —
never really had much time for me
                                while living so
why break the habit?

A few drift away... excuses quite unnecessary
but they feel obliged
small waves of relief reach me — it’s okay I tell them
I would have probably done the same

The crowd thinned they open a few bottles —
some decent sherry a single malt
the polite barriers are bound to come down
                                        after a glass or two
the afternoon wears on ...

Here come all the old stories —
trotted out like party pieces
the after-dinner yarns and anecdotes
first heard when I was a child
the raconteur forgetting for that moment
tender ears were in the room

Such family legends never die
they’re handed down as comfort
embellished maybe but the truth survives
as written in the blood

I think that’s what I came for —
confirmation life goes on
had I the smallest doubt