Our Own Virus Transaction

Even with death The Man’s gotta bargain a price So I suppose that’s why that fat a** mortician As a sales technique Made my wife and I pick who gets to sit From the one available chair In his lavender lobby For a full hour the morning after Before he bothered to waddle out Wiping bean soup from his forehead Ushering us in to his office. We asked to see my wife’s mother’s body To confirm I don’t know what, her proper arrival? We were amateurs and he was offended I could see him think What difference does it make? Possession is nine tenths of the law. He managed to put his pen down While he shifted a stack of paper And heaved himself back up From behind his chest high desk. We followed him down to the basement Of the old three story house As if we were teens in a horror film. At the bottom he creaked open a door Peeked in And I sh*t you not He grunted under his breath “Hold on hold on.” Then closed it fast and suggested we trust him. We said Cremation He said “Of course. "We’ve been very busy with that these awful days.” We wanted to talk colors and shapes of the urn And to mention the pretty dresses she’d never worn We found hanging by the dozens in her closet We wanted to say something about the general agony She lived within The sleeves of her entire life But pulling on his tie and clearing his throat He wanted first to be exact with us The cremation was $3000 And the car ride back and forth To the Jackson Industrial Park Was another $1500 Because she’d be riding in high style Boxed up In the front seat on the way back And as well he’d need to see our credit card and ID Up front Before we proceeded any further As if we could cheat him Or change our minds And reverse our mother’s departure from Earth.