Resting Place Poem by Edwina Reizer

What does it cost to bury a man?
Too much money, so here's a plan.
Do like the red man. Light a fire
and let those flames climb higher and higher,
taking the body into the air
with reverent songs to take him there.

Ornate caskets that play on guilt
and bodies covered with a silky quilt
gives one the feeling that the dead feels good.
But the dead has moved on the way he should.
He doesn't care about the box he's in.
But you the mourner or next of kin
feel much better. You bought the best.
You'll be able to sleep, able to rest.

And now comes the upkeep that must be done.
Perpetual care by ones who run
this money-making scheme that's never over
as around the gravestone grows the clover.

People wake up. You have been had.
They prey on your weakness when you're sad.
When the body is dead and is no more
who is that casket crumbling for,
Bones?