I couldn't touch you
Even if I wanted to.
Under that curved glass lid
Maybe you were just asleep
Breathing a steady relaxed breath
After weeks of heaving and rasping
Maybe those were droplets from your nostrils
Not signs of refrigeration.
That red flag draped over you,
Cold, dead, not fluttering at all,
Seemed incongruous and pointless
Because those comrades gathered outside
Were whisking ennui away with flat jokes...
Did anyone really mourn for you brother?
Except the woman silently sobbing
In your dark bed?
Or your son and daughter
Reflecting on your sunny smile?
Or me, maybe?