standing in line
at the funeral home
back where i grew up

waiting for someone
to pay respects
to the dearly departed

i heard the young
dead woman gloat
a little

pleased with the plethora
of flowers and throws
and angel figurines

and the long line of mourners

and the way
her ***** looked
in the shirt she wore

she thought
and i'm not paraphrasing much
that 'she looked pretty good
for a dead girl'

i used to think
that we left this world
and stepped into angel wings

but now i know
we cannot be
what we haven't been