You died

You died, and suddenly we all wore suits

like at a wedding, your whole family here,

my family there, two rows of po-faced mutes.

Someone enlarged supposedly the last

good shot of you, hung like a gallery piece.

They stooped to check the label as they passed.

Then two guitars began. And a recorder.

Oh, Christ, the jangle would have made you laugh. 

"Gone home to be" not here, and in short order.

I left as soon as you were in the hole,

dodged small talk, promises of anything, 

when anything is stew and casserole.

I'll feed the cats on casserole and stew,

and sleep off the vacation we were saving.

I need a drink, a smoke, a drink, and you.