I ate a flapjack at your funeral today.
Your coffin was in the middle of my laptop.
I watched pixels with hair I know
climb into seats two metres apart
with masks across their faces.
A woman we’ve never met
told us how you liked singing in the shower
and playing board games with your daughters.
I could see tears through the backs of skulls.
Fat Bottom Girls
blasted through the Lenovo speakers
and I smiled as the webcam ended
and my family disappeared.

© Carl Burkitt 2021