Waiting For Mr Charon Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The pier is a seam of rotting teeth
Bearing a queue of perishable cargoes

I am waiting for Mr Charon
Already he's ferried many dear ones away

All night I dream that a tinchel of pitchblack rats
Plague ridden, close around me
Their needy bites are nibbling at my days

I eavesdrop on the conversations of ghosts
Mumble to no-one in ear shot, echoes of my journey

I have known the slough of despond
The weight of guilt and regret

For a while I stayed in the house of the interpreter
Rested in house beautiful, all too briefly

Oftener than I'd have wished,
I've squirmed in the vale of humiliation

Vanity Fair lost its savour long ago
Though by-path meadow's often led me astray
Into the home of despair, that doubting castle

All the King's Horses and all the King's men
Won't put my past in good order again

Mr Charon, you're the ferryman to silence
Where all the birthday candles are blown out