I learned he was simultaneously strong and weak
Just like a surviving spouse at a funeral
Bleak as the bereaved, strong because he had to be
He used to visit the bookshop
I’d see him there quite a lot
He would read the things he never bought
And buy the things he never should
And I stood as I would care to do:
Pretending not to stare at his pages
I must keep quiet in case of argument or riot
There’s already enough strife to fight
And because light was at a premium
When darkness became ever cheaper,
He knew that he’d been had.
He was the surviving spouse at the Funeral for the universe
And there was no god to see that it was bad.


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