stand not near my tombstone
bearing false tears
for my headstone and piled up dirt
does not cover my bones
I am back among the riff-raff
of the mean streets I trod for so many years
no . . .
I am not where you look
I played the hard and fast game
of life, yes, yes I did
I play it still
so I’m not worth your tears
and sorrow
cast your eyes to the
lights of the nearest city
there I will be
not here in this quietude
where they hurled me
buried me
left me
so walk on by
I’m not here
in this place where goodness rest
don’t make a mockery
of the others resting here
leave . . . LEAVE! I say to you
that’s right go
uh . . . but please, before you go
would you
leave your precious flowers on the grave
to my left
I shan’t speak her sainted name
but she was the only person
that ever found  a smidgen of goodness within me
that’s  a blessing . . .-
the flowers for her
thank you . . . thank you very much

©December 20, 2018 / Jerry Pat Bolton