Many can name the day when

he died.

Each year

a deathday

like a birthday but

an ironic celebration.

On the day he died 

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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