No requiem

No Requiem
If poetry is dead, I never received that call in the middle of the night.  There was no death notice or obituary, no viewing, no remembrances or memorials, no online memory book.  No final words, no gasps or rattles, no hand holding, no I love yous. There was no service or eulogy, bagpipers or dirges. No wailing widows dressed in black, no ushers, pallbearers, no undertakers or gravediggers.  No embalming fluid, teardrops or whiskey spilled.  There was no immediate family, no dear old friends, out-of-town relatives or mistresses discreet behind the veil.  There were no flowers sent, no casseroles, cold cut platters and no fruit baskets.  No mourning coats, burial outfits or polished shoes. No hearses or limos, rides past the houses or cars with headlights on. No muffled laughter, wracking sobs or offered condolences. There was no death certificate, official cause of death or coroners inquest.  No shovels of earth, or dust to dust, no roses at the gravesite. No cleaning out of closets, no passing downs of antiques, no last will and testament. I remain unconvinced, I write. ~MCM ©2014