the funeral home looked like gone with the wind

Big Tent Poetry

the funeral home looked like gone with the wind

the last niece arrived late for the viewing.

she skirted the swarm of ghouls milling

at the door. camouflaged in dusty dull

black carapaces, the females mimed at

humanity with tears and scraps of laces.

once past the canopy, an unctuous guide

in graphite chanted her through hushed

doors and past the crush of zombies,

messily strewing the dead man’s wake

with the remains of his backbone and

his embellished balls. The debris of a

half-eaten child in miniature mourning

answered to the fates of the bereaved.

her uncle was already on the loading

dock, fortunate.

(when I copied the words, half-eaten and child ended up together.  I could not resist)

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Posted on 2010/09/16, in poetry, writing. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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