Many can name the day when
he died.
Each year
a deathday
like a birthday but
an ironic celebration.
We were making holly wreaths
ready for Christmas.
A petrol stop on the way to work
an overheard conversation
at the local garage.
When he told us
Lennon was dead
we pricked our fingers
in shock.
Now each year we remember
his falling
his dying
symbolised for ever
by those fallen empty glasses


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