“who in the hell
buries old folks
at noon
in the middle of the summer?
daaaammmmnnnn”
he thought
as he took the 3rd drag
from his cigarette
sweltering in Georgia’s June heat
beneath his brown polyester suit
squinting from the glare
of midday sun off the hearse’s grill
he hated
funerals
god
his wife
the fake sincerity
he offered week after week
to the families
of blue haired old ladies
but
this had been his Pa’s bizness
and he lacked the gumption to try anything else
The preacher babbled on aimlessly
Virginia Ruth’s daughter cried.
Her grandson laid a pink carnation
across her steel gray casket.
Ms. Virginia had planned this day
oh so carefully, each detail finely honed
Nervous about the fact that the
funeral director was gonna see her naked
as he embalmed her – No man had seen
her naked since her
Robert Earl had not come back from Korea
that terrible January in 1952.
She would have felt betrayed
by his sweat and indifference.
His exhales over nicotine,
while Preacher Turnipseed
was sending her home
to be with God.
He plotted his final revenge.
An elaborate display of mourning
that would be required
on the day of his passing
to be orchestrated
by the chubby wife
who held him in quiet disdain.
Ornate finery, pipe organs, rose wreaths.
Little did he know.
She was cremating his ass
takin’ the insurance money
and
headin’ to Cancun
with their gravedigger.
jktjktjktjkt
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