DARK DOOMER DAY.

ON MOURNING A DEAD SON.

Yesterday was a dark doomer.
I thought I saw you
here and there
in the other town
where once we wandered
years ago.

Grief had a field day,
keeping me low.

I wandered shops
with the others
and alone, feeling
on the edge, looking
into that dark abyss.

I bought a Hunter
Thompson book
from the cheap
book shop,
the girl gave me a,
why did you buy that?
kind of look;
young girl,
bored maybe,
thinking of her
boyfriend or girlfriend
or whosoever.

I thought of you,
you, my son,
the way you went,
the unanswered
questions so far,
holding your hand
as you slipped away,
flat-lining heart.

We had sandwiches
and drank,
in the inside café;
watched other people
do their thing,
life going on,
unaware
that dark doomers
were sitting there.

But of course,
you knew, you were
probably there
unseen by us,
eating a burger
and sipping a cola,
(at least
in that spirit world
as we think,)
looking at us,
sipping your drink.