The Funeral Director

The Funeral Director

The undertaker who shaves his male stiffs
(even ladies show some growth)
before every viewing must understand
this reality better than most… death’s jarring blow.
If he is to maintain a modicum of indifference
barring reviews of financial considerations
with grieving family members, the greater
the competing grief the more they’ll come up with.
(your spirit gone to immediate judgment,
you die, your hair continues to grow along
with your nails, you look pale but something like
you looked asleep, a Giaconda with closed eyes
and the mystery of death behind your smile).
Did you think he would leave filled teeth, gold or otherwise?
He makes you fair like Mona Lisa with an inscrutable wile,
of rouge and powder and puffed out cheeks, for potential
customers, onlookers who ponder times past.
Dying is a family thing. Estimating casket size,
he considers briefly his own demise.

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