Death is in my sights today

Firstly this week, sympathies to Demented Demon (he's a nice chap, despite the monicker). His grandfather died alone in hospital recently, and on when the death certificate appeared did it become clear that he'd died of C. difficile.

It's a times like this when some really good poetry might help; when the rationalities are simply too cold. I suggested Tennyson's In Memoriam, though perhaps some Larkin or Hardy might suffice. Above all, my favourite poem about young men coping with death is 'Poem', by Simon Armitage,

Simon Armitage, ‘Poem’.

Frank O’Hara was open on the desk

but I went straight for the directory.

Nick was out, Joey was engaged, Jim was

just making coffee and why didn’t I

come over. I had Astrud Gilberto

singing ‘Bim Bom’ on my Sony Walkman

and the sun was drying the damp slates on

the rooftops. I walked in without ringing

and he still wasn’t dressed or shaved when we

topped up the coffee with his old man’s scotch

(it was only half ten but what the hell)

and took the newspapers into the porch.

Talking Heads were on the radio. I

was just about to mention the football

when he said, ‘Look, will you help me clear her

wardrobe out?’ I said, ‘Sure Jim, anything’.

Recommendations?