Not resting at St. Pancras & Islington Cemetery

I sit on the bench
for Philip Stanley King
‘intuitive and charitable
a man for all seasons’
I can hear a piper’s lament
Abide With Me
police sirens pitching
through the trees
a blackbird returning
a blackbirds’ refrain

Perched on the edge
of the sofa-feigning seat
I face Mr King where he lies
yet we do not rest
and not even the blackbird
knows why.