The earth's circumnavigated the sun
once
Since your heart stopped
beating.
Aimlessly I wander the circular paths.
Lost.
The kind lady proffers directions and a colourful
brochure.
You'd have approved of the sharp repro…
"All burial memorials are set flush with the
lawns."
No heaven-pointing verticality
here.
The lawn has grown back over the worst of my
griefscars.
I miss your sense of humour
mostly.
Like a man in a cemetery
two black ants wander aimlessly across
your black marble
desert
It looks like four.
The biggest reconnoitres the
terrain
of your blockletter-chiselled
name
His feet touching the inverted
feet
of his reflection in the alternate
cosmos.
The blackmirrored barrier between parallel
Universes
Like you and me, infinitely close,
unable to connect.
They mow on Tuesdays.
The smaller ant scavenging
pollen from a withering daisy which escaped the
scythe.
You'd approve of the recycling.
Elsewhere, Life and Death go on
Bored gravediggers use a Kubota backhoe in Fischer-Price colours
Spades are anachronistic -
dig?
We could wordplay all day here,
Linds.
A cemetery is such fertile ground
for humour…
The last grieving party of the day has left.
The astro-turf has been rolled up.
Are you laughing looking up at these poor bastards
who have to mow your resting place
for Eternity?
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