I Really Hate Funerals

It’s a beautiful day

Blue sky and warmth

Light breeze, scented flowers

And a funeral

 

We arrive at the crematorium

And I want to be sick

(The chimney stands there

A mocking reminder)

It sits in a beautiful garden

With conveniently

Strong smelling flowers

And I feel my lip curl

At the sweet facade

That veils the painful truth:

This is where they burn

Your loved ones

 

The coffin arrives

In a sleek black hearse

The big windows

Putting the box in

Plain framed view

Like it’s something interesting

On display for the

General public

A sick sort of exhibition

 

Men in suits

Wheel it past on a crude

Metal trolley

And we stand in two rows

Watching the pitiful

Parade

 

The box that holds her body

Is very short

Like the living body I remember

And as it passes

Close enough to touch

(To run my fingers across

The shiny wood)

I try not to flinch

At the images of her body

Trapped beneath the wood

That fill my minds eye

 

The coffin passes

And we follow it

A dejected line of close

Family members

Eyes down

To hide our tears

Or dry-eyed devastation

 

In a room full of her friends

We file into our seats

And try not to look at the

Box as it is carried to the front

 

The priest didn’t know her

But he tries his best

And I try to be comforted

It almost works

Until we leave

 

And I see the rows of flowers

Lined up under the names

Of the other ‘customers’

Of that day

 

In my head a bitter little voice

Whispers

 

‘Business as usual...’

 

I gag, and turn away

Trying to blink away

The sadly smiling faces

I really hate funerals.