He watched the procession of dark colored cars
slowly moving across the asphalt.
The heat of the sun made vaporous streams of gas
lift from the soft black stone,
into the air,
like a prayer
to a higher power.
The mourners cried and laughed.
They fiddled with their ties and their hair,
as they nervously wondered how they looked,
and when their time would come.
Would the Church be filled with their friends?
Would they care,
wherever they were?
The priest pretended to know what he was talking about.
Everyone knew that he was as much in the dark
as they were.
Everyone was happy it wasn’t their time to be
in the coffin.
Everyone was sad that their friend was dead.
Everyone tried to remember the last time
they called his number
or visited him.
Everyone was glad they weren’t with him
at the end.
When it was time for the burial,
he walked in the sun
to a place in the soft grass
and prayed to whatever was up there,
that he would be ready
when his time was up.