Ashes To Ashes

I laughed because I did not have what it would take in normal times to cry for him. I had not practiced, after all, boys will be boys but they, with few exceptions, sissy those, do know the limits, tears are reserved for others and for times when darkness emulsifies all liquids emanating from human orifices and from hell on earth which hovers without pause in all those niches and the cracks of joy. I laughed because it was not me, but him, that tyrant without kingdom, the one whose slaves had flown the coop so long ago, using the wings he had, in painful and so logical precision handcrafted and attached to them, which really, should be 'us', oh yes, it was perverted pleasure in the snow when Johann dug the grave and winked, we were old friends by now, for sure, between the shovel and his sandwiches, of bloodwurst and red beets, and lemonade. What bothered me the most was a dilemma. How much did they expect me to throw down of dust to dust (I saw no ashes) as farewell, well, with a heart that had been born and bred, to honour generosity I took two scoops, and went home happy for two reasons, here revealed. I had been spared and Johann, the gravedigger and friend, had smiled, as if to say 'you're doing fine', I know that now. At funerals you can't just talk among the dead and in the presence of the Lord, so great, I still think back to that strange day in fifty-three, and wonder with a scoop of trepidation when I will have to walk the walk to it again.