The Damn Funeral ...

The Damn Funeral Home Guy

Shall we go pick out a casket?
We have some lovely ones for infants.
Suddenly I knew what wooden legs feel like...
they feel like wood.
Big, huge room, cold and dark
until he finds a light switch.
Still, big, huge, cold and dark.
Full of coffins. Everywhere.
The smell of expensive wood.

My legs must be made of cheap wood,
cause they're not working well.
Fancy one lined with satin and lace,
it takes my breath away.
I try to imagine a dead body
lying in such silly splendor.
For what reason?

Typical marketing skills
are displayed even here,
first the senses are bombarded
with the expensive beds for the dead,
and there's a large selection.
Appealing to the guilt factor, I suppose.
Then we approach
the "reasonably" priced caskets,
the ones he feels would be
more appropriate for me -
I looked at him with dead eyes
and wondered if he could recognize dead
when he saw it.

I really hated this man
for talking so alive-ly with me.
At last we came to the tiny caskets
and I remembered why I was there -
but why am I looking at caskets...
my baby is being cremated.
Habit I suppose on his part,
to show his wares.
Boxes for babies -
my baby can't be put in a box
to be put in the ground.
His life alive would have been boxed in -
in a wheelchair -
in death he will be free.

No thanks Mister, no box for my baby -
cremate him and I'll take his ashes
and let him fly where he wants to go.
.