Max by Eira Needham

When the sun shines, ​
I see you basking
among daffodils

              Fur shaved.
              Needle in.
              It takes seconds.

A blanket gives false comfort.
Movement has ceased
on your jungle-green bed.

We absorb every vivid feature, before
they fade into memories. You no longer
feel hands remove your collar.

All nod agreement and lift you,
a discarded bath robe underneath,
into the old barrow

last sniffed when filled with compost.
We steady the single wheel hearse
and begin our solemn walk

to the vegetable patch where
the ground gapes to swallow you.
We stand on the edge bearing gifts.

A gravy bone biscuit.
Your favourite rope toy.
A beef jerky chew.

We take turns to shovel back the soil,
you gradually disappear
until only your pirate patch remains.

Goodbye

I scoop a handful of bulbs from the border,
pat them in over you, until a sudden
cloudburst of hail stings to the core.

Eira Needham is a retired teacher living in Birmingham UK. Her poetry has been published in print and online. Some of her recent publications are in Green Silk Journal and Autumn Sky Poetry. She has been Featured Writer in West Ward Quarterly, once coming first in Inter Board Poetry Contest.