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The Dead Bury Their Dead



The bray from the trumpeter
Sneaks through the kitchen window,
Settling gently near the steam
Of the fresh apple pie.
He waves at the winos,
Calls for the shop-keepers
To forsake their brooms and buckets,
And join his rag-tag-tag-along bunch.
Ignoring their hop-scotch and jacks,
Girls and boys follow behind,
All ribbons and denim and lace and bare feet,
Dancing the familiar sing-song.
Buckets and brooms well in hand,
We smile sweetly goodbye
As the blaring entourage makes the corner
Of Third and Dogwood.

© Sean Taylor
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Submitted by seanhtaylor on May 20, 2021

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Sean Taylor

Sean Taylor writes short stories, novellas, novels, graphic novels and comic books (yes, Virginia, there is a difference between comic books and graphic novels, just like there's a difference between a short story and a novel). In his writing life, he has directed the “lives” of zombies, super heroes, goddesses, dominatrices, Bad Girls, pulp heroes, and yes, even frogs, for such diverse bosses as IDW Publishing, Gene Simmons, and The Oxygen Network. He also posts religious and political content from time to time. But not nearly as much as writing content. Between horror movies and cartoons, that is. Visit him online at www.thetaylorverse.com and www.badgirlsgoodguys.com (or follow his faith blog at www.filthyragsanddirtycups.blogspot.com). [He, Him] more…

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    "The Dead Bury Their Dead" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 24 Jan. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/100487/the-dead-bury-their-dead>.

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