It was the pinging of the phone that awoke him.
He noticed it was half four in the morning.
Nothing good happened at half four in the morning.
He ignored it and tried to go back to sleep.
The phone was insistent, and made its anger known by pinging again.
The message read.
HE DIDN'T MAKE IT.
There were many ways you could read into that, he thought.
He didn’t make it to the airport.
He didn’t make it to the shops.
He didn’t make the appointment.
He didn’t, he didn’t, he didn’t.
The black tie had made its way to the top of the drawer.
Soon to be joined by its closest friends, white shirt and black suit.
He walked down to the church and was joined by six others.
Solitary greetings made the day blacker than it already was.
A lifetime condensed into twenty minutes.
Barely a hymn to console, black tie remarked to white shirt.
It took longer to get ready.
He walked the journey home, stopping by the river.
Black suit began to panic when the hand entered the pocket.
Never again, never again, would he take that message.
The phone pinged for the final time, entering the river, barely making a splash.
He made his way home.
The whisky filled the glass, and he toasted another farewell.
Black Tie entered the drawer and said goodbye to his friends
-
Author:
Paul Bell (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 27th, 2026 08:04
- Category: Sad
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, A.N., AuburnScribbler
Offline)
Comments3
Paul, this really moved me. Having stood beside families while entire lives are compressed into brief services, I felt the exhaustion running through this…and giving the formal clothing its own awareness makes those garments quiet companions in unbearable grief. One heck of a powerful piece, my friend! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Time waits for no one it seems now.
Curious how we dress for a funeral. Black and white yet I hope at mine they will come, if they come, as they are, shorts, sandals, flip flops, bare feet, all colors, close with tears and hair unkept. I would offer free beer and no preacher let everyone just throw in a hand of dirt. A great read my friend I hope the shirt and tie are retired and will not be called on again. Nicely written my friend.
Yeah, I'm definitely going for colours only.
Here here
This poem carries a heavy, cinematic sense of grief, capturing how a single message can divide a life into before and after. The personification of the black tie and suit adds a haunting touch, giving sorrow a quiet voice that stays with the reader.
Its the only time we drag a suit on now.
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