What Remains, Remains
The sign in the road screams
“Dead people’s things for sale”
No “Estate Sale” euphemism
For these good old southern folks.
After all Grandpa Fred can’t
Hear the cuckoo of his old Black
Forest clock from his grave.
Might as well sell his shit,
Pick his bones clean, and recycle
Some of the love he displayed
Fawning over his collection
Of thingamabobs, doodads,
Gold watches, old books,
Bronzed baby shoes, and
Aztec funeral urns Acquired
from yard sales in Mexico.
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