I did not watch them shovel dirt on him
After he was laid in the cold scorched earth,
The surrounding faces seemed so wan and grim,
Staring at the epilogue of life’s worth.
Though hymns were sung, were none I do recall,
No words of the preacher rang clear, no none;
Someone mumbled something, and tears did fall,
With blank heaven above, and a wizened sun
Looking down on black ants, that moved in mime.
I recall only sadness that day in June,
And many cheeks bleached by hot sweat and brine,
A grey world with voices all out of tune-
A feckless god in an amorphous sky
And eyes bled red when all the grief ran dry.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.