Burials

The women eyes are red-rimmed

And their bodies heave silently like a chill in the night.

Some men are six feet deep, and still digging to make sure

While the rest wait patiently for when it is time for the pine box.

They said men don’t cry

We don’t know who claimed so but

It must be so.

What is dead may never die again,

It must be so.

Death will not come after us,

It must be so.

Local gin is poured on the ground,

This is because the earth is the only one who decides.