Who Will Speak Over Me?

(Excerpt from Outcast)

my bones wait —
sitting slumped in my chair
in front of the TV
watching static, i guess,
from the last TV show i watched.

boys work my lawn without pay
to support the property values of my neighbors.
and by now, my mail is stacked in a box
at the post office because my mailbox is full.

when will they come for me?
to retrieve these bones and put me in earth.
surely there are people to see to such matters as mine.

and who will speak over me?
for there will be no crowd
nor a single soul
to mourn my passing.

or will it be a mere act of construction?
a digging of a hole in the ground and a hearse
and men filthy and sweating from the digging
dragging me out and dropping me with a thud
into the Georgia red clay.
and a backhoe to move the mound over me
and maybe a rock to mark me
with no inscription as no one knew my name.
yes someday as my bones wait,
surely there are people to see to such matters as mine.


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