Along the Waiting Line of a Funeral Procession

A long waiting line of us brokers and brutes.

One standing behind the other,

I stick my head out for a moment,

and bring the reality back to myself.

We are all waiting.

Waiting with a basket of necessities.

A basket full of nothing.

A reality of emptiness as I stand in line with the rest of us.

Pieces of meat waiting for the slaughter and a date for the butcher up ahead.

The world filled with everything,

and we are here,

in a land of nothing and what,

as we say hello to a name tag and red vest.

My basket,

disinfected for a purpose other than living,

but that of the dead.

A grocery store of meat products,

all waiting in line for a taste of plastic happiness.

A pointless existence.

To go home without a smile,

and please come back again,

as we all will.

There is no difference between us and the dirt.

A collection of rocks,

sanded down after time,

to a pile of dust.

We are each others worst fear.

A fear of the unknown.

Of the future.

Of a life after life we all ignore in a living world of the deceased.

I wait here wasting away this morning,

as my best friends decompose in their coffin.

Their clothes staining with fluids of what they were,

and who they were made of.

Now grinning with only teeth and bone without the marrow.

I’m prepared to get a taste of my future now,

with no idea how to avoid this harrowing ending.

As I stand in line with my basket of nothing.

Still wasting away.

Still waiting.