Not the Day to Listen

This nifty gent with a spry tongue
sells shares in a cemetery association
with radical options strange to us.
No ceremony, he said, prompt and efficient
disposal of the body, no church services,
no gathering of relatives and friends,
no reception afterward with food and drink.
On a morning like this, lilacs in bloom
all over town, he couldn’t sell flies
to a spider. A fresh carpet of grass
edges the garden where seeds just broke through,
weeds lifting their heads, dandelions
in the front row, the kids off swimming
after their chores, Mama with a tub
full of dirty clothes—who has got time
to die on a day like this?
I leaned on my hoe long enough to tell him
we weren’t ready yet and besides
we had made plans for tomorrow.