Urning a Living
Urning A Living
Mary lives in a concrete urn of gray
Center stage in the red kitchen
Her husband stays at home next to her
They do not do dishes or anything any more
He too has an urn situated there along the floor
They adore each other
Mary pops her head up from the urn
Very slowly though
Conjures up a kiss for him
She calls it copulation or birth control
Mary watches her lover in snail like progression
Lift his head above his stone cold receptacle
Their mouths nearly touch
It is an incomplete transaction
On the sorted affair of sorts
The close, missed kiss, almost landed on the lips this time
Time is all they have while in existence
Existing in the finery of their urns inside the kitchen
There will be no babies, this, or any other year
It is very clear they are solid in their conviction
Solid and becoming more so
Turning into urn is their condition
We’ve come to learn and love them so
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2015
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