something for the dead

 




there is something
terrible moving
towards us

the blackbird no
longer sings in
the winter trees

the church bells
have grown
dormant

there is no courage
left in the land and
all the laughter has
grown sad

the car radio plays
a requiem for the
departed and
the snowflakes
applaud wildly

I arrive home, get out
of the car, go inside,
sit, light a smoke
and wait for the
punchline to
oldest joke
of them
all