Funeral Blues

I wanted to write about Choco-Van today and what she's meant to me over the years, but the tears keep coming, and I just can't seem to find the right words. So I hope you don't mind if I borrow, in part, the words of that famous bugger, W. H. Auden. This is what I really want to say:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent my dog, Cocoa Bean, from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence my Ipod and with muffled drum
Bring out the flatbed tow truck
Let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead,
Scribbling on the sky the message
She is dead.

Put crepe bows round the necks of my chocolate ducks and doves
Let the U Pull It guy wear black cotton gloves.
Choco-Van drove me North, South, East and West
Drove me during my working week, my Sunday rest.
At noon, at midnight
Listened to my talk, my song
I thought the van would last forever

I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now
Put out every one.
Pack up the moon
And dismantle the sun.

Pour away the ocean
and sweep up the woods

For driving an Accord can never
come to any good.



Rest in Peace, Choco-Van.
You will be missed.