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”.