Your red shirt with the black tie
and your little pink cowboy party hat
smell like the hospital.
You tell the guests in the garden
your Dad has lung cancer,
you are watching him die slowly.
The music turns off -
The kids who were dancing in the street
walk home under rain.
The couple kissing under the bus shelter
don’t feel right without the music.
Every head is down, their hands
in raincoats –
The weatherman promised a pink sky
why is it black?
Death is standing in the flowerbed
wearing a black smoking jacket
trying to light the barbecue.