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Ashes 

the dead annoy the living

first, we are to sit down with funeral purveyors, speak business and, then,
shell out cash.

there is an economy to be thought of, and men must be hired: limousine drivers,
and florists.

the tailors must get their pay: we get fitted for black suits.

peripheral people and strangers must be entertained: we schedule speakers and
prepare eulogies.

their absence haunts us; we blurt out random anecdotes and drunkenly admit our melancholy.

their absence requires explanation and we make pretend instead of admitting that there
is no learning, no growth, involved in it.

he,
simply,
is gone.

  • A poem by Joseph Walker.

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