I had no idea what to do with them,
When the undertaker delivered,
Mum’s ashes in a black bin liner,
And thus it was that I considered,
Just where I would store them,
Until I’d formulated a plan,
So I placed them in the garden shed,
Next to a watering can,
And quite close to the mower,
Nearby to shovels and rakes,
Then promptly forgot about them,
Plainly one of life’s unforgiveable mistakes
Eventually good fortune smiled,
For after just one year,
My father’s ashes turned up too,
And so I stored them near,
To those of my dead mother,
In that self-same shed,
Thought it touching in an odd way,
That they were back together dead.
Thereafter I dillied and I dallied,
Until I did decide,
My parent’s ashes would be spread,
In Richmond Park on a hillside.
A sound plan in some respects,
For it was their favourite place,
Yet when scattering said ashes,
I did not embrace,
The warnings of the weather girl,
That morning on TV,
Saying a gale would blow this day,
Was overlooked; ignored by me.
So there we were, my wife and I,
Next to a carefully chosen oak tree,
Where my parents remains would lie,
For all eternity.
The bin liners were most heavy,
As if we’d been punished; as if we’d sinned,
And the thing I should have accounted for,
Was the direction of the wind.
For as Shirley emptied Dad out,
And I did the same for Mum,
We found we’d discarded them ‘up wind’,
And thus we were undone!
Covered from head to foot,
In a mass of charcoaled dust,
We were both akin to Zombies,
And scared the park’s patrons thus!