The Human Position

About suffering they were never wrong, the
Old Masters – Auden,
‘Musée des Beaux Arts’

It was Autumn when we made the climb,
you and me and Auden’s ghost.
Or at least his spleen.
At least that’s what you said.

One last adventure, you said,
as you packed the Moroccan spices
and the old skillet.
A fitting farewell. You said.

I reckon it was lamb, I mean,
it was symbolic, right?
We read ‘Funeral Blues’ and
then ate in silence, reverentially.

Never had spleen before.
May never have had now—who’s to say?
Whatever it was it tasted like chicken.
I suspect most things do.