Widow
Open my window wide enough
to stare at open field
to ride with crows to their feast,
he wanted to say
through the lid of the casket, shut
over his head, muffled his voice and
the undertakers, ready to lower him
into dirty embrace while
two men in dark trousers and wool shirts
stood at the end of the graveyard
patiently waiting for lamenting
wife to kiss his cold forehead
for the last time, and two men
knew that it would take
three corpses and or macabre
matters before you could earn enough
for food or perhaps a toy for a son
yet wailing widow took so long,
and in her pain, she never thought
of the two men in their dark trousers
