The man in the shirt sleeves
And the tailored waistcoat
Rounded the street corner
Stopped when he saw me
A beat, before he moved on
His arms straining, full
Five dark red sweet jars
Balanced precariously
Put into an open car boot
Jars like the ones behind the counter
At the garage near my Nan’s
We bought sweets by the ounce
On the end of the football field
Where she shook free
A dark red sweet jar
Half of my Grandfather
That looked like bonemeal
She would have used on the garden
And which she sprinkled
In the hole she dug
To plant the tree, in the ground
Where a quarter of him
Was packed away
In a Ferrero Rocher box
So he wouldn’t damage the soil
But the tree died, all the same
Such a strange end
I think about it often
Like the five jars
I saw that day, on the street corner
Where the funeral home sat
When my eyes locked with the undertaker’s
And he wondered if I understood
The weight he carried
Those dark red sweet jars
Five lives, a heap of histories
In his hands
Unstuck Monsters 