The Funeral Poem by Christopher R. Kennedy

Where the sunlight comes down in crystals
Against a sky that ought not be so blue
Mourners group like penguins
In expensive clothes of briefcase-black.

Humble eyes of smeared mascara
Tragic eyes of puffy pink
Are so beautiful to see amongst
The sea of solemn apathy.

Death feels cheap, like it might at war
And the pasty white corpse wears his finest suit
But forgot the coins he needs to cross
The River Styx.

The gray priest has a slight lisp as he
Reads stories from a secondhand prayer book
The magazine-cover businessman in the second row
Keeps glancing at his Rolex watch.

Emotions travel through stares
And those who never feel the sting of tears
Don’t seem to feel the death
At funerals.