ASH

Too many funerals lately.
The dress shoes hardly getting

any rest, the black polish,
the coarse brush, the soft cloth.

I never asked for this guided tour
of local funeral homes.

Sitting across the street, waiting
to go in. To view. Mumble

a prayer, saying glad it ain’t
me. Wet comb through the hair

ain’t gonna save anybody.
Don’t talk to me about smoking.

Nice place for a bench here.
To view. We all hold our

individual number, and they’re
all the same number: 1.