Poetry Blogs (mortician)
Player piano in the empty funeral parlor foyer cranks
out old standards with a Dixieland flourish. The old
wooden cross. How great thou art. Take my hand precious
Lord. No one hears it. No one is here to discuss pre-planning.
No one peruses coffins for his aunt who has been sick so long
the family forgot she would die. No one is scooped out
by grief at the accidental death o...
Tuesday 19th February 2019 11:07 pm