The Salesman of a Death – A Poem by Rowe Williams

Across the parking lot 
from a willfully hipster café 
there is a funeral home. 

The largest word on its sign 
is Dignity, 
as though that's what they're selling. 

A mother, bereaved. 
A son, grieved. 
A coffin, heaved. 

"Please, I want to see my son again." 
"Sorry, ma'am, but resurrection is 
only available at the chapel two doors down. 

Perhaps I could interest you in 
a coffin package?" 
Black petals, black veils. 

Dead, departed, deceased. 
"Dignified. That's the word for it."

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E-mail verifiablyhuman@gmail.com Hours ©2019 Rowe Williams
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