I try to be distant.
Detatched.
Drink a 50 cent Mountain Dew.
Dressed all in black
on a blistering day.
My back is a waterfall.
Pop two more quarters in the machine.
The mass gathering makes this funeral home
feel more like a sweat lodge.
"It's cooler in the chapel"
but that's where the body is.
I enter the mock church house,
close my eyes in passing the casket,
and sit in the back,
where everyone obstructs my view
of...
it?
him?
Eulogy delivered.
Songs sung.
Get up and take your last look.
My pores become geysers.
He's too still.
Too quiet.
Too peaceful.
Three observations
in a third of a second.
I remember his voice,
the way his palm felt on mine,
shaking hands.
Shake the preachers hand.
Remember.
Pull away.
Pop two more quarters into the machine.
Wash my hands.
Twice.
Go out to the car
to try my best to calm down.
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 10:11 AM UTC
I try to be distant.
Detatched.
Drink a 50 cent Mountain Dew.
Dressed all in black
on a blistering day.
My back is a waterfall.
Pop two more quarters in the machine.
The mass gathering makes this funeral home
feel more like a sweat lodge.
"It's cooler in the chapel"
but that's where the body is.
I enter the mock church house,
close my eyes in passing the casket,
and sit in the back,
where everyone obstructs my view
of...
it?
him?
Eulogy delivered.
Songs sung.
Get up and take your last look.
My pores become geysers.
He's too still.
Too quiet.
Too peaceful.
Three observations
in a third of a second.
I remember his voice,
the way his palm felt on mine,
shaking hands.
Shake the preachers hand.
Remember.
Pull away.
Pop two more quarters into the machine.
Wash my hands.
Twice.
Go out to the car
to try my best to calm down.
Listen to this poem w/ sound effects: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWyZNoCf2HI
Copyright 2010 by Victor Thorn- From Losing It
Request permission to use this poem