Indifference At a Funeral

We used to eat most dinners together. Then we grew up and moved along. Only gathering on holidays. Some years later, most ate alone. There are less of us every year. Some are too ancient to travel. Others have sparred with disease... Lost a leg or all of their hair. Some waltz with silver walkers and wheelchairs. Some don't even know they're here... but their eyes still shine like babies. Now we gather only to pay our half-respect. The elders arrive, hunched and all dressed in black. A second cousin once wore a Pink Floyd t-shirt to Grandma's funeral. He stood bent legged, but his back was straight. I wanted to carve indifference from his face... but refrained.