POEM: Final Resume

Cemetery space
speaks more about life
than what lies beneath speaks of death
Each grave unique
tho fundamentally the same
like the divided cubical
in a corporate office maze
personalized
to make the time there more pleasant
less drudgery
more like home

The larger, grander stones
like the coveted corner office
(only no window, no view)
bigger doesn’t always mean better

I guess
not more talented
just more visible
more outspoken
self-promoting

There are tiny stones
some half obscured by overgrown grass
The entry level position perhaps?

But most graves are middle management
the rank and file
each making quiet statements
about who they were or wished to be thought of

There’s a pecking order
organization, structure
even in death
an impenetrable glass ceiling
but no one works their way up that ladder
the final resume on permanent file
a job description carved in stone
Literally!

POEM: Cemetery View

Gray day, no rain now
the blank sky is still
Wet headstones are dark and clean,
dotted amongst the shrub punctuated lawn,
rising up here and there along the rolling field
Stone after stone, different shades of gray

A man stands silently before a grave, head bowed
his dark red sweatshirt erupts against the muted green lawn
against the bleak, white-gray sky,
against the quiet sleep of death
Life is dark red
A brief pop of color