"Wake"
by
James Shammas
(Age: 44)
copyright 02-27-2005
Age Rating: 10 to 127
I watch them: how they move toward the front,
Peering inside the casket the very first time.
Some fix the shirt or the tie, or smooth out the hair
Before their eyes fall on the head or the face,
Followed by the usual remarks on how good he looks:
How the've done a great job with the skin or the nails,
Especially in light of what the poor soul's been through.
Me, I go right for the face, dreaming the eyes will pop open
Or he'll flash a quick grin, perhaps raise a fist or two,
As if there's a string in his back you can pull with a finger,
Or a switch you can hit in this box of silver,
As I leave, nevertheless, to spread myself among
Clusters here and clusters there, looking solemn and still,
Breaking it up with a good cry with Mom or a strong hug from Sue,
Then back for a poke-- maybe a touch-- to see what that's like...
And reaching the end of the day, when the widow asks how I feel,
I nod in a daze, scouring my body for a string or a switch.
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You know, after reading a few of your poems, I have a feeling you enjoy writing poetry about losses, and I must say, you are very good at it. This one also had a nice rhythm and rhyme to it, and once more, it was sad toward the end, though, I thought this end was a little more predictable, but still, very good.
They never look good,thier dead! I always hated having to go look at the bodys of the ones that I loved and for that matter, the ones I did not like were even more creepy. This is a nice poem, just a creepy thought! Thanks, Anthony
This is really entertaining. Each one mourns in their own way. This makes me think of how the Irish would celebrate a wake.
Great write; this one made me smile.
Welcome !
