Jeremiah refused to be rescued in mixed company.
I threw a going away party
in the hopes of his failing resurrection.
Pseudo somber faces filled the kitchen,
made up with pictures of rustic barns
and floral wallpaper;
the heat became too much to bear.

Our friends payed homage,
placing regifted bottles of
coop and kraken
on the mantle,
and wrote letters of congratulations
signing their names backwards
in my guest book.
The day lost its luster
and coffee mugs of champagne
ran empty.

Conversations danced
around truth and honesty
escaped out the window.
I saw a stranger in the corner.
His name tag read Sinner
and his guilt left ink
on his forearms.
I asked him to read my palm
and he confessed how much
he loved wakes.

My laughter shattered the static.