Photo by Sam Moqadam on Unsplash

A terrible thing happened to my friend and his family today.

He took his life on an ordinary Monday. Hung himself by the neck

From a tree. Left this life and just went away.

Leaving his loved ones to pick up the pieces.

His mum couldn’t stop shaking at his funeral

Paid for by us, his friends

Her rickety car matched her blonde hair.

It was not fair what he did to her. Selfish. So fucking selfish.

Wild and more than a little desperate as I knew he was.

Now she is a nightingale ghost singing to me of the insanity

Of leaving young parents to bring up children isolated, unfree

With no help from anybody. Her voice echoes

Across the years of coping, of scraping by; while

The rich and old have money untold. We should fly

Secret kites on secret nights just to see our children

Smile, forget their troubles, be happy for a while

I’d love to hear him sing like the blessed nightingale.