Pink Balloons

Pink balloons

Strung from streetlights

At the roundabout

Where Peppa Pig bedsheets

Wrap themselves

Around metal fences

 

Along the road

The balloons blow

In the wind

Lining a route

To an invisible

End

 

How could I have not seen

The crematorium signs

Where do you think you’re going?

So young?

So innocent?

So short on life

 

My mind runs

With the thought of you

What might have been

Is full of heavy dread

For the person

You didn’t get to be

 

But still, the day ends

And the bedsheets are soaked

By a Welsh summer

Later, taken away

By a warm heart

What will they do with them?

 

The days turn

The balloons deflate

Then they disappear

And the world

Is wiped clean

Of your memory

 

Sometimes

I think

Of your mother

And how she must

Ache

From missing you