A Burial Options

[Guest_Ishmael_*]

They shift beneath the fringes of his attention – 
the witness things umbrella’d; the catatonic sky;
the traffic, bleary and hissing; a yawn – 
and study the soil.
		             Hands are pocketed to feel

for a crumpled ticket. Still in the ears,
and stares, of the customers black 
there loiters a certain summoning:
The Butcher’s Boy - 
                               “Number 26?”           his voice a cathedral of chalk.

The rain does what it can to fill the air,
and other holes that fathers seem to fit,
but never satisfy. The priest is done
and atop the muddy water
                                        a Lord, a Thou and a Loveth float.

[ace]

Ishmael:

I'm afraid I have to agree with Wally. One gets the sense of a good poem, but can never quite graso where you are going with it. You have some nice images and thoughts wish they were tied togther with more clarity. For what it's worth...only my opinion.

ace