Wilderspool Causeway

We were in the right place,
but with the wrong mourners.
The central building was a hexagon
in gardens of the crematorium
radiating outwards equally.

Flights delayed in December frosts,
pipes frozen at the primary,
long black coats, scarves
and immaculate shoes.

Is there someone we’re looking for,
a fixer manning a toll bridge
to the hereafter?

Or was that person heard at church
in a generic ransom sermon —
But who was it paid to?

Was it for the creator’s children
whose father gave them too-lenient
terms and conditions?

Is the debt not of his own making?