0361 Over My Dead Body.. Poem by Michael Shepherd

The central aisle – more, an asphalted roadway –
of Brompton Cemetery would be hard to beat.
It’s no Forest Lawns, Pere Lachaise, but great
for passing trade, of all peculiar sorts – a
constant stream of cyclists,
rollerskaters, boardies, headphoned joggers, even
snowboards briefly – tourists,
lovers, quaintly; and all, as in
John Donne’s verse or Stanley Spencer’s paintings,
shoulderbone to shoulderbone
desperately calling for our attention
to that which we least wish to
attend to right now, while there is
a now.
And since the undergrowth
between the aisles grows
like the fireweed of desire,
it’s Dangerous Liaison Central
fit to make some of these turn in their graves.

On that central Park Lane, Wienerstrasse,
Broadway, of departed spirits,
the black marble, gold-lettered plot
of Richard Tauber, heart-throb tenor
of years gone by (I do a great imitation,
forgive me, Vienna mine…) is never
without fresh flowers. He must have
touched some hearts; or got around.

A last message to the world.
Gold letters on black marble?
appropriate perhaps for
the theatrical; yet on
the other hand, if deep engraved,
if not so gravely,
‘Where was I when I needed me? ’
(the title of a Broadway memoir
which cheers me mindless, frequently)
might make some passers-by to pause; a
last laugh and a longest testament.


(Inspired by Spike Milligan’s tombstone)