V

YOU HAD TO GO

TO FUNERALS

You had to go to funerals

Even if you didn’t know the

People

Your Mama always did

Usually your Pa.

In new patent leather shoes

It wasn’t so bad

And if it rained

The graves dropped open

And if the sun was shining

You could take some of the

Flowers home

In your pocket

book. At six and seven

The face in the gray box

Is always your daddy’s

Old schoolmate

Mowed down before his

Time.

You don’t even ask

After a while

What makes them lie so

Awfully straight

And still. If there’s a picture of

Jesus underneath

The coffin lid

You might, during a boring sermon,

Without shouting or anything,

Wonder who painted it;

And how he would like

All eternity to stare

It down.