Across the parking lot
from a willfully hipster café
there is a funeral home.
The largest word on its sign
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."