Only a handful of suits
Mostly on Milkweed (that’s his real name!)
And the rest of the staff, at Stanley’s.
Mourners wear denim and Carhartt,
Bib overalls with worn knees.
Folks have already been at work,
Or are dressed now, for later.
Days do sometimes come hard as this,
And farmers never really call in sick.
All lined up and patient to say:
He looks so good lying there,
So what got him in the end,
We graduated high school together,
Think you’ll sell that tractor, that barn, that ridge?
Will he miss what I borrowed –
Now that he’s gone?
My beautiful brother,
Feuling the family,
With his secret stash –
The cooler stuffed with Diet Cokes,
Hidden away in his backseat
Behind tinted windows and a child lock.
Three generations of Dunn Women
Only one with red hair
Each supporting the one before them.
Each, a little less upset than the next.
Casket, rough oak
Hewn from barn wood, reclaimed
But no less expensive.
(Lord it costs a lot to die.)
The folks at the funeral home decided on two extra pallbearers.
After all gentlemen,
They tell us about our uncle,
This farmer was not light.
Fellowship Hall Sandwiches
(That’s ham & wilted lettuce)
Mustard and mayo packets
White plastic knives and aluminum cans
And sun shining through stained glass
On more mouths, many more mouths
Then we expected to feed.
And all of us,
Sweating and hungry and together.
All of us
Equally, Fully Divine.