The central aisle – more, an asphalted roadway – <br />of Brompton Cemetery would be hard to beat. <br />It’s no Forest Lawns, Pere Lachaise, but great <br />for passing trade, of all peculiar sorts – a <br />constant stream of cyclists, <br />rollerskaters, boardies, headphoned joggers, even <br />snowboards briefly – tourists, <br />lovers, quaintly; and all, as in <br />John Donne’s verse or Stanley Spencer’s paintings, <br />shoulderbone to shoulderbone <br />desperately calling for our attention <br />to that which we least wish to <br />attend to right now, while there is <br />a now. <br />And since the undergrowth <br />between the aisles grows <br />like the fireweed of desire, <br />it’s Dangerous Liaison Central <br />fit to make some of these turn in their graves. <br /> <br />On that central Park Lane, Wienerstrasse, <br />Broadway, of departed spirits, <br />the black marble, gold-lettered plot <br />of Richard Tauber, heart-throb tenor <br />of years gone by (I do a great imitation, <br />forgive me, Vienna mine…) is never <br />without fresh flowers. He must have <br />touched some hearts; or got around. <br /> <br />A last message to the world. <br />Gold letters on black marble? <br />appropriate perhaps for <br />the theatrical; yet on <br />the other hand, if deep engraved, <br />if not so gravely, <br />‘Where was I when I needed me? ’ <br />(the title of a Broadway memoir <br />which cheers me mindless, frequently) <br />might make some passers-by to pause; a <br />last laugh and a longest testament. <br /> <br /> <br />(Inspired by Spike Milligan’s tombstone)<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0361-over-my-dead-body/
