Not now, at the open grave:
Where the vulture diggers are hungry
For another body
Stacking them high
Sprinkle dirt, flick holy water,
Tread carefully…collapse into a family member
Who hugs you too tightly, but right now
It feels right, or real.
The rain plays with us
Like a fickle child
And I am suddenly drained
Nothing touches me,
There are only lurching stomach pains
And no more sandwiches left when we arrive
I just wanted a drink, to try and help.
They dug a grave in my heart today
And it stings.
Poetry by Michael
Artwork ~ unknown