We will die in the great dirt of St Mary’s

where ego is crap and worms are sovereign.

Our mortality will get us as far as a stone tablet,

a few decaying roses, a one-armed angel if we’re lucky.

Mighty god of the earth will use our bones, our flesh,

for nourishment, will chew up the coffin like a candy bar.

If religion’s right, our spirit will miss out on all this.

If religion’s wrong, then the priest sends his regrets.

— John Grey