I’m coming back on All Saints’ Day
for your olives, old peanuts and dodgy sherry,
dirty dancing. I’ll cross dress at last
pirouette and flash, act pissed.
You’ll have to look for me hard:
search for my bones in the crowd.
Or lay a pint and a pie on my grave to tempt me out
and a trail of marigolds back to the flat,
where you’ll leave the door ajar
and the cushions plumped in my old armchair.
Been thinking about death a lot recently, obviously, so you can probably expect more on this theme.
Jo Shapcott is an English poet who is currently Professor of Creative Writing at Royal Holloway College in London. She’s interested in science and her poetry often has a humourous streak.