Edwardo Badia 1856-1914

Edwardo Badia 1856-1914 That low bred confidence man! That snooking swindler who took me for a fool. “Hey Gregg, you thief! You owe me still, even as I rot here, Regrettably ensconced inside this bursting old boneyard, Final resting grounds of a thousand parted pilgrims, No doubt suffering in claustrophobic hell, Like this old besotted soul, Decades and repeating weeks of years, After Mister White planted me in this dusty earth, Next to the famished broad oak over here, A few yards from the stone crosses of the Luetweilers, Buried and cushioned in the wrong grave, Stuffed inside the tomb of a swindled corpse! Sir, we shook hands on that deal! I was to be transferred to Whittier Heights, My new spacious home for these dusty old bones, In exchange for the procurement of land there, Burial land with pleasant vistas, green grass, and “Eternally sweeping views of the Pacific,” Fitting views indeed, for my sweet wife and loving mother; And although my family was ceremoniously exhumed, And taxied there by a duo of horses and a trio of men, Sir, you forgot me here, forlorn and alone, And still in this detested grave! How could you knowingly leave me here, Separated and apart from my sweet wife, And my loving mother? Sir, I demand a refund!