THE DEAD
A Poem About Covid-19
Below is a poem from my third collection, “Notes From The Bonfire.” The link below also offers a video reading of the poem with imagery.
THE DEAD
The dead
are our friends
smoldering
pouring like lava
from the apertures
in the earth,
creaking,
the desperate yawls,
the miserable, wretched
twisting of bones.
They line up
the cemeteries,
are poured under
the hot cement,
tombstones as far
as the horizon,
crematoriums
pumping out
mountains of ashes —
our friends —
our beloved —
those we trusted —
those we planned
to have over the house
for goddamn tea.
Oh, dear friends!
Lost in the scourge!
Forgotten!
Piled up!
Reduced to a number!
Productivity they say!
Stock market up!
Liberty they say!
Individual rights!
Don’t you hear them
twisting
creaking
begging
through the lid
of the coffin?
Save me
they say —
reach out
and offer
a life raft,
but the
money machine
rolls on
and no one
gives a damn.
Everyone
too quickly
forgets
how precious
it was,
how valuable,
how important, really,
to have such friends.
