Dead man walking

Dead man walking (Polperro, Cornwall 1995)

A man in a hurry, pushed a pushchair,

Up a steep hill, to a caravan site;

And it felt like he was getting nowhere;

Huffing and puffing and sweating in spite

Of the Cornish sea breeze blowing that night:

Slow down you’ll give yourself a heart attack,

Said his worried wife, as he hurried back.

He turned a corner, and there on the path,

Lay a middle-aged man, with lifeless eyes,

As motionless, as in a photograph,

Gaping at nothing, in frozen surprise;

Oblivious to the despairing cries,

Of his partner, who mere seconds before,

Was with him, and now, was with him no more.

More people gathered, someone made a call;

Two paramedics, appeared on the scene;

Applied, CPR, which helped not at all,

Nor did the defibrillation machine;

Truth be told; it was obvious he’d been

Gone too long; still, it was right they should make

An effort, at least, for his partner’s sake.

A policeman discreetly brushed his palm,

From the wide-open eyes, down to the chin;

Giving the corpse an appearance of calm;

They covered, carried, and lay it within

An ambulance; guided the next of kin

To a squad car, with a flashing blue light,

And bade the man in a hurry; goodnight.

And thirty years on, this saddest of tales;

Written by a man inclined to forget;

Is, retrospectively, missing details;

Such as the still-burning, half cigarette,

Dropped, evidently, by someone who met

Their maker, whilst walking up a steep hill,

Having just eaten, their very last meal.