An Unprepared Son Burying His Dad

We all saw him seize his mum’s shoulder And smile but in his heart a boulder I knew you didn’t catch the second; I happen to have a mind fecund. What my eyes snatched was a masquerade: A face vandal might want for a raid But this he’s not acting on purpose; Just not here to hear what lips propose: Mark is a heir planning Dad’s funeral While, for now, no crate of mineral: One thousand guests who cherish cold beer; Why would normal eyes not announce fear? Yes, not about ideas voicing Nor over man’s cash gifts rejoicing, Your hand, too, should ransack the pockets And watch Mark’s eyes pop out of sockets!