Two Paths

Thought about this on the way home from school.

Two Paths

When John died, we cried

All the way to the church,

And nodded along 

To the sermon, nearly

Shaking our heads off

So he knew for certain

We cared. I was a tad 

Surprised to find him smiling,

Wide-eyed, checking the time

On his father’s sundial nose.

The overcast death march

To the graveyard was

Met by a congregation

Of squirrels and crows,

Sparrows throwing rice,

Reveling in the spectacle

That was our mourning.

As we lowered him down,

Raining dirt and roses,

A memoir of our world,

You could catch his voice

Egging us on,

Ready to check out

Of his waiting room coffin.