Human Vultures
Note: 99% of my poems are fiction. Occasional some are not. This is one of them. Corruption is everywhere.
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Of all the lovely birds of the air,
The vulture is the one I hate most.
But why? Isn’t such a bird God’s creation too?
I suppose it’s the ugliness of its appearance,
Its bare throat devoid of feathers,
Its scavenging on dead animals,
Bald, ugly, squabbling and filthy.
I simply cannot stand it.
There are others like it, alas.
The human vultures that roam
In search of easy gain.
My wife had not been dead three hours,
When I returned home feeling awful.
There attached to the door of my home
Was a card, giving me condolences
And informing they were expert undertakers.
Did I not need an expert to bury my wife?
How they got to know so fast I do not know.
But I am head strong in these affairs.
I chose another agency, one I could trust.
A few days passed and a kindly soul
Phoned me up. I am a solicitor, he said.
So what! You’ll need the services of one.
Thanks, my friend, I have my own.
Again the telephone rang and a comely voice
Offered my condolences and wished
To make an appointment with me,
So that we could sell my home.
Incredible, I thought. My home is not empty.
My wife still roams about bringing me
Memories I am loathe to forget.
Politely I sent the lady to where she belonged.
My home was not for sale.
Will I receive more offers?
Who knows? I’m beginning to love
The flying vultures more.
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