I know nobody cares and that’s okay.
Don’t make no never mind to me, he’d say.
In fact, he’d say, it kind of seems to me
It’s more or less the way it ought to be;
Most folks have got their own fish to fry.
At least until they hear that he might die.
Or did. Then they stop what they’re doing,
Drop in at the funeral parlor for the viewing,
Sign the book, hang out a while. There’s not
A lot to do these days, the undertaker’s got
It under one big roof--no all night vigil, grave
To dig, no flowers to pick. This way they save
You time and money. Come next day and send
Him off in style, stay long enough to see and spend
Some time with friends of his and theirs.
There may be one or some of them who cares
But then where he is going or has gone
Is good, so you won’t see much grieving going on.
A fit of crying is not what they came for.
Dying happens, there’s no one to blame for
It, so they can deal with it without it.
Neither do they feel the need to talk about it;
You will rarely hear them mention the Hereafter.
Probably what you’ll hear the most is laughter.
They feel they ought to feel bad about him being dead,
But still can’t keep from feeling glad it’s him instead
Of them. It’s not the dying they most fear
But rubbing up again against a prickly peer,
A former friend or foe, some kith and kin they've got,
A long lost love, some they hold dear, some not.
Once seen again and hugged, there's this: They'll be
Obliged to share this state of bliss eternally.
2009 may 1 3 5 6 7 8 9 2012 sep 16 17 18 tue d fulgham