And this is how the story went
before dinner’s cruelty cleaned
its own plate.  Not far back
under the advertisement’s cavalry,
a shipwrecked python sang marigolds
to sleep under the static hum
of fading electrolytes.  Sobs carry
ashes only so far, and the river
is effervescent with mortar and longing.

At the funeral, the coffin was afloat
in gin.  Rafts careened by to sprinkle
the plot with bon-bons and forget
-me-nots.  The smell of carrion
made everyone nostalgic for old war
movies, so the wake was held at the local
VFW.  Thirty-seven new funerals had to be arranged.