fussin' over bow-tied manacles
and pleather braided belts
on midnight suits and bone-white shirts
-
as flags are hangin' high
on the right-hand side of silver Cadillacs
and rust-patched Ford trucks
-
stirring limply in heavy breeze
from thick thunderclouds
that always visit on lonely days
-
whilst we fall behind in convoy
of flashing red and screaming blue
towards that muddy earth patch of death
-
raising high our black umbrella
keeping rain from washing tears
off so many placid sad faces
-
from memories held dearest
to chance encounters
of even slightest recollection
-
we all hold black umbrellas
over single person lost to life
and condemned to earth herself
-
but what cosmic crowd
grips cheaply crafted plastic hilt
over the grave of earth herself, condemned