The Mute
In college I was a mute,
that’s what they called an Undertaker’s Assistant.
When it all becomes too much,
the kids, the wife, the boss,
the appearances.
I don my black suit,
buy some flowers,
then slip into the lamenting
family members
lamenting a dead man in carved
dead wood with a carved
dead face,
I weep into neck crooks, on shoulder pads, into bossoms,
letting the relief pass over me,
gaining life through carved,
dead faces.
While we while away like
soggy puzzle pieces.
#304
