Memorial Day

Memorial Day 5-30-94

The crickets chirp.
The crow caws.
The pinwheel squeaks
in the wind.
The dog barks.
The bug crawls on my knee.
The old man plants flowers
in the distance.
Roughly eight o'clock p.m.
and eighty degrees.
Summertime.
The squirrels are busy
and the grass has grown for the day.
The trees whisper at dusk.
The sun has gone
and the night rolls in.
The cemetery is closing,
come again.

New Years Day

New Years Day 1-1-94 / 2:00am

In the still chill of the cemetery
as a full moon wanes in the fourth day
my composure fades.
Sometimes I wonder which way he's looking.
His broken young bones laying there
Earth to Earth, our little angel.
Sometimes I wish I was God
Suffer the little children
to come unto me
and forbid them not.
At times I wish he had some
grandiose delusion -
said that he was Jesus or something
that some day he'd come back
to life,
and the joke would be over.
Sometimes I just pray
and kiss his grave crying.