We accommodate the dead
Hurry up a luncheon
Postpone the dinner date
by an hour or so
Pay rush charges
on that suit that’s been gathering
dust since the last time
Change into it in the afternoon
and anticipating the questioning
glances, have explanations at the ready
for our altered garb
We step from the asphalt to the grass like
actors in the wings
It is good to be out we think
in the afternoon,
the crisp autumn air
is rejuvenating
We acknowledge the solemnity
with bowed heads but look at shoes
and study the pile of dirt, the sheen on
the coffin more beautiful than on any furniture
we own. The sermon prompts us to draft
versions of our own to be spoken later that
evening, hopefully to wide, sympathetic eyes
We greet and console,
rumor tender tones, shake the feeble hand,
pat the plump shoulder, and by the time
we reach the eyes that
are so mourned, we are in full character

As for the dead,
what is one to think of them?
For they are dead
And even the graveyards are built
for the living

Om Rupani

If you've any comments on this poem, Om Rupani would be pleased to hear from you.