Whispers
By Paul Cameron Brown
Suppose and this is just supposing,
though it is a supposition of the highest order,
I were to die tomorrow
A roar denoting silence?
At work, if tradition is the dictate,
something eulogistic would find itself being said.
I am more calm.
I perceive their layers more shrilly.
Past the lipservice
and shocked surprise,
whispers, rumours and
the grapevine would bruit
around a different legacy.
And the open bier?
An embrassassment.
What more could be left unsaid?