Bad Timing ?

It was February and cold.
Outside, the grey ocean raged against the rocks.
Inside, it was warm, even plush.

Subdued we were on the landing,
when a deferential voice passed up the news
that the hearse had arrived.

In an instant the coffin was in the hallway below.
And as it resolutely ascended the stairs,
the house, in the presence of death,
shriveled.

And when every emotion was crushed,
and death at the head of the stairs - triumphant!
there was a loud explosion.
It was the telephone
ringing with vulgarity.
Instinctively I throttled it. But a voice said:
"Hello, is that Dalriada."
"Yes."
"We would like to book a holiday for the Easter Weekend."
"I'm sorry, but we are in family mourning."

Back on the landing, I was in time to see the coffin
making its way down the narrow passage to its resting place.
And as I watched, I thought,
how extraordinary the hand of fate.
Since she, who would have made the holiday,
was in the coffin.

__________

© Cormac McCloskey
As was the original intention, a question mark has been added to the title. Some slight adjustment has been made to the punctuation and consequently sentence structure. And in line two, the word "raged" replaces "frothed." Cormac, 18th February 2011