Taxes

the cat's ashes
tucked in his frozen elbow
pink tin with painted flowers
the white cat now grey

the golden sand dollar
three doves waiting inside
a blue rosary
tucked in his frozen hands

a flask of manhattans
two cherries inside;
slipped in his pocket 
with two pictures of us

 

we cried
and they cried 
as taps began to play
the rain poured down and came to take 
his mortal soul away

 

slid into a hole in the wall
where he may rot in peace
like the flowers left behind


'papa', i'll say to him
as she weeps in pieces



'can we play tag at your tomb?
or are we too catholic now
to keep you that human in death'



 

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