Grave Diggers Song
Death makes its appearance regularly. They lean upon their shovels
smoke a Marlborough, keep away from the mourners.
Always shovel ready. Even the utility hut is hidden yet ready,
it’s back where the graves peter out into headless mounds.
Theirs’s not the burden of loss, nor are they tasked by grief
as the undertaker crew solemnly do. The best are swift, professional,
they resist swapping vulgarities until work is done;
just fill in the coffin-plugged hole, hum the ‘grave-digging’ song:
“So long you’re almost done.
Ours the winch and lowering straps.
Ours the pork chops for dinner,
Ours this pleasant labor.
All that loved you
want you now be gone.
Ours the cold beer
Yours the slow fuse of corruption.
So long,
shovels need cleaning,
the boss is watching
so long,
so long,
so long”.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment