Funeral Regret

Tires whirring on the cold macadam road,
springs creaking from weak shock absorbers,
engine ticking being a quart of oil low;
the sounds heard on the radio-less drive
to the funeral home parking lot.
 
I do not like sitting with thoughts and feelings,
especially when the hurt starts kicking in,
I do not remember how I got here, as if
a worm hole dropped me in my parking spot.
 
People sitting in black and white,
with the open coffin,
callers looking like penguins in a zoo pen,
or Catholic clergy at a silent retreat.
 
The wake silence is broken
by a eulogy read by a family member
and a short message, thank God,
by the Congregationalist minister.
 
At the reception I enjoy my German Peanut
Butter Chocolate Cake slice
and coffee with milk and one sugar.
The post funeral reception is less stoic
as family and friends share stories of the deceased.  
Some laughter helps break
the stress and
heavy emotions, 
which is warmer than tears.
 
If only the bastard paid me
the $700 loan
he owed me
before he took his
dirt bath.