The Undead Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

The undead?
One day, a high summer season, I drove my bike
along with a narrow track, the led me deep into
a landscape that once had been domesticated
but now had gone back to nature,
I came upon a small clearing ringed by tall
umbrella trees leaving the clearing in an ominous
half- light where sun glare danced among
the branches of trees and bushes; I saw three
hearses and a van, none of them had wheels
the windows of the last-ride-cars had been
taken down and flimsy curtains put up to give
it a resemblance to home.
A family of itinerants had found sanctuary here
and I was not welcome; they threw pebbles at me
and I had to turn the bike around sine
narrows forest road ended at their camp.
They came running, trying to catch me, and dogs
snapped at my heels. I have never attempted t
be back since but, often think why some people
are so poor they have to live in a hearse.