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After Momma's Funeral
After Momma’s Funeral
Where does – I mean, did – Momma keep the coffee?
That cupboard over the coffee maker
The preacher prayed a fine funeral for her
He’s an idiot; no one believes that stuff
Momma did; I say that’s what important
Let’s not argue; Momma wouldn’t like it
It doesn’t make any difference; she’s gone
And let’s not babble about what Momma wants
I’m not babbling; Momma raised us right, okay?
I want her Bible.
Fine; I want her car
A poem is itself.
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