Soft Landing

My mother told me about the death of Elisha Chng the other day, and I was quite shocked. It was a surreal sensation reading about him in the afternoon papers - about how he played rugby and was a male model, though I was annoyed at the tone of idle speculation, the he seemed to have it all, so why? I used to play with Elisha when we were young children - our families were close. I remember giving him a bucket of G.I. Joes when he left for Africa with his family - his father was a missionary sent there to proselytize. I've written this poem as a form of remembrance and tribute. Note it is still a work in progress. Comments and suggestions on the poem (and how to improve it!) are welcome.

Soft Landing

for Elisha Chng

I knew you but briefly
more a presence, a memory,
than something solid,
until the thump of your landing
in the afternoon papers -
dry words of baffled condolence
leavened with concrete.

It was surreal to discover
the grown up you, secondhand -
rugger, model, all action hero,
rather like the G.I Joes
we played with as kids –
a bucketful my parting gift
as you left for Africa.

You weren’t a close friend or confidant –
nothing to warrant
this extravagance of verse;
still, I offer this wreath -
wraith like memories
thinly plucked
an antidote to idle speculation:
of why, what, waste
seeking some absolution
better found
in quiet remembrance.