The Bereavement of Mr. Jones

From The Spectator, 31 March, 1990

The Bereavement of Mr. Jones
by Gerard Woodward

Mr Jones was an expert
In the art of origami.
He would thumb through volumes
Of his clean kitchen paper
Before wrapping chips
As though changing a nappy.
He made paper hats
To amuse his nephews.
He enjoyed watching his customers
Pump vinegar on their food
And he refilled each bottle
From a white gallon can.
He was the salt of the earth,
Of this he had sacks and loved
Pouring it into the palm of his hand,
Creating a white landscape,
A mining district of peaks
Which a wind from his lips
Would level to plains.
But most important his fish
Which he held by the tail,
Gave them new life in his hot, dark fat.
Poor Mr Jones who was father
To the families of Old Hill,
Fed the children and saw
That they turned into grown ups.
When his wife died her death
Was announced on a square
Of his kitchen paper
Taped to the window, upper
And lower case letters mixed clumsily.