Dead man walking (Polperro, Cornwall 1995)
A man in a hurry, pushed a pushchair,
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.
