A Morgue Experience
There is a most primitive wailing sound—
a stricken keening of utter despair—
a mother’s awful symphony
of savage tongue,
and ruined heart.
Identity must be determined.
A son? Handsome youth cut down?
A daughter? Blooming beauty snuffed?
Father, steeped in rage, refuses to go,
preferring to drink himself numb,
and lay blame at a careless God’s doorstep.
There lurks a hidden cavity,
a storage packet of sudden death,
dark, wet streets.
An officer of Laws for the Living
escorts Mother down a dim hallway
to a large viewing window where a
teenage boy lies in state under bright lights
and hideous shroud of white sheet.
The blanched face revealed—
Sightless eyes cannot see Mother,
Stopped arms cannot hug Mother,
Silent voice cannot greet Mother,
Sealed lips cannot kiss Mother farewell.
Comes the keening.