Late arrangements arrived well dressed
Uselessly placed, to make the place look good.
Smelling of sorrow? Relief?
“He looks good” in his mobster suit
Pinstriped and shinola black
Except for those nails they should have clipped.
His watch was even still ticking
Stubbornly holding on for life.
Too little, too late.
The King, sorry for staring and standing above.
I know you would disapprove.
I just didn’t know who my Papa was.
The home weaved a tapestry familiar to us now.
It came with unraveled ends, broken glasses, missing progeny
At least they didn't ask me for money.
Midland heights never reached
What Mt. Moriah promised with
Iced oatmeal cookies and red juice.
Holy words somehow don’t prohibit
Sisters snapping over spared shells and engraving indelible texts and
praying to win pathetic wars.