No Facebook in Heaven

“You know” she said “I wouldn't mind
I know we're all different and that
But you do have to wonder, really, don't you think?
Why she would feel the need to do that?”

“I mean, of course, I would never judge
And I've grief of my own as you know
but the candles, the poetry, every year
Where on earth does she think that it goes?”

“And have you seen, the pictures he posts
I counted this year, there were seven!
Like his granddad can hear him, like we should be impressed
Like he thinks there’s a Facebook in Heaven.”

Well Thank God on High for the Grief Police
Apportioning love for the dead
So impossibly broken you judge the bereaved,
That I almost wish I had said:

“Oh tell me about it, what could they be thinking?
To set aside some time each year
To honour, remember, to remind the world
Of the person that they held so dear”

“It’s rude, inconsiderate, a clear humble-brag
More and more annoying every time
Yes it’s all for our eyes, transparently so
That they bare their feelings online”

“But at least it applies through the whole afterlife
If poor Dante's nightmares are true
There’s no Facebook, no Twitter, no talking at all
In the place for bastards like you.”

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