When they bury me,
they'll be no one there
who knows my Christian name.
And those in attendance will
wonder why they came.
They'll mouth hollow phrases
of memories they don't trust.
Of a man they pray to God
is in that coffin.
They'll feel the cold
as they shovel the dirt upon it.
Drive home to their families
Kiss and hug them.
Wondering who was buried that day.
copyright 2009 Salvador Cordova
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