These men only wear suits for two reasons.
No one is getting married today.
Outside, on the stone porch, we stand
Awkward and alone. A few of us smoke
Into the twilight. A woman wipes
Her eyes. A man cleans his glasses.
Inside you stand five feet
From the coffin: Thanks for
Coming. Nice to see you
To folks you might remember.
The Masons leave the room
At ten to nine. They return in white aprons.
Speak of the purity of the lambskin,
Brotherhood. He's built well and
Will take refreshment in the temple,
One of them tells us as the others
File past, bend low, whisper
A shibboleth in the ear of the corpse.
In the morning, we go to the college.
I buy a book, a pair of shorts.
We linger. Rest against the hood
Of the car. A thin haze obscures
The spring sun and nascent landscape.
In the distance, a farmer plows his field.
The tractors steady sputter a reminder.
Pretty girls walk across new grass
As the mist of our voices drifts away
Then dissipates.
from You Can See It from Here
