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Hang Around
by Laszlo Bertok

Wooden-board-spring. A bare assed
kid peeks through the hole. A woman
hangs clothes to dry. The deceased
is borne in an open casket. The almond
trees are Greek Orthodox priests. The
wooden tub is weeping. Somewhere
someone is hitting a table. That's it. It was
long ago when you were emotionally moved.
When you thought
that you had to
prepare the mortuary. The slightest touch
of your chest against the fence
tolls the bell. You know that--now
the lid is being nailed on.
Are they happy? Or bawling? Tomorrow
it'll be in the papers. The narcissi
are yellowing like coffin nails. A sapling
that you planted in the fall departed in the winter.
You strike down on the loose
stake. Smooth the dug up
earth. Put rocks in a box. You hang,
like a dog around a tombstone.

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