I feel like I shouldn’t have to name this one

there were windows on the adjacent wall,
next to booths
booths like a fucking cheery restaurant
tall, angular, and mostly transparent
men fill the room,
some women on the arms, hushed whisperers.
a volcano was erupting in my arms,
spreading to my hands
poison running through my mind,
streaming down my face
there was a fireplace on the wall across
glowing, licking, warmth on that summer day
the last approachable wall I came through
a door frame lined with somber faces
and suit jackets

the coffin nearly touched the wall
dark
my breaths
teeth tingled and my eyes burnt
it was propped open and I told myself lies
it didn’t hold him,
it held fears, ideas, memories

every morning a daily devotion,
he would lick his finger, turn the page
the breakfast table was for us
not the food

spare bread for the ducks,
good bread for the ducks,
food for the ducks, an apple for the horse

chinese checkers, pool, chicken feet

and in the last days
emotional hours
unnecessary apologies, tearful outbursts

our last walk to the duck pond
for the first time, I led
looked both ways
and the conversation meant nothing
I scream at myself to remember the feel of his hand
rough in mine, weak
down the familiar road

the coffin held so much but not him
just a body of a man, not strong like him
pale and broken
bald and pained

I returned to the duck pond
hoping to find him
the horse is gone,
houses creep near and nearer
there remain still some ducks