The Arrival

I saw my friend, the congressman, lower into the ground.

His vehicle into the afterlife was an extraordinary spread

Of polished oak lined with fifty-nine roses, one for each

Year he was alive. The stainless-steel bars on the sides

Reflected the setting sun behind the graveyard.

Heavy heads filled the large crowd of onlookers.

They offered condolences, but not often tears,

Except for the few who truly knew the man.

Many in the back held his campaign slogan:

“A vote for me is a vote for the best.”

He rests eternally next to F. M. Dun.

“1821 – 1881,” Dun’s grave read.

It was nothing more than a cross

Made of wood that marked

The man’s burial site.

I imagined the worms

Crawling over Dun’s

Bones, just as they

Would do to

My friend.