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At Saint Patrick's Cemetery, Langthorne Road
[after an incident recounted by Tom Cullen,
in his book, When London Walked In Terror]
The man was clad from head to toe in black.
His upright stance had neither slouch nor slack:
apparently a gentleman, no knave
or pimp. We could not quite discern his face.
His steps seemed heavy as he made his way
past slanted headstones to the open grave
(and Mary Kelly's coffin in it). Gray
clouds, puffs of lead, collided in the sky.
Right at the hole's edge, he stood still---no trace
of feeling. Several moments straggled by,
and watching him seemed like a crude intrusion,
that we should have, at once, brought to conclusion.
I wanted to escape like a trapped rat,
after such horrors. I had said so when
he suddenly bent down---way low---and then,
into that wretched, open grave . . . he spat.
Starward
[jlc]
