the end - Poetry by Bill Hannan

the end

Jack’s got diphtheria sister

he’s gone to hospital

Jack won’t be back my children

he’s gone to Mary and the angels

they are looking after Jack 

he died in the arms of our saviour

be like Jack and die a good death

so you’ll go straight to heaven

in my youth I am still a believer

I sing souls to paradise in requiems

but I must be becoming a sceptic

I don’t see myself going with them

eventually I understand that death

offers nothing useful to think about

we don’t know the how or the when of it

and nothing at all will follow it

and now in my eighty-fifth year

I suppose I must be waiting

for my rendezvous with death

but how does one prepare to meet nothing

you could say we’re both in rehearsal

Lorna’s sight and my hearing are fading

yet timeless darkness and silence

are still not the same as nothing

since we know not the day nor the hour

it’s probably prudent to make lists

of those things that you now regret

and of the companions you will miss

I must make some time to do that