Toes stop at the foot
of buried corpse holes,
mustn't trample dead coots
with kids and soccer goals.

Tombstone eulogies gush
chipped script effigies
mouthy cadavers hushed
embalmed expired retirees.

Thought bubbles inflated
with the stink breath hot air
of closet poets frustrated
drawing comics in dark lairs.

Ordained mortician preachers
recite trite pamphlet ads
selling creature comfort features
they exaggerated a tad.

Silk lined wooden crate
hermetic gasket seals it,
formaldehyde filled veins
throat too tight for pealing.

Crematorium furnace sparks
within it the sickness burns,
rebuild cemeteries into parks
put grandma's bone flakes in an urn.

NICE

Nice poem .

Thanks, Robin and Julie.