What We're up Against

On the way home from the funeral
we stopped for lunch.

Lunch was like the singing. Lunch
was like the flowers. The hole,

where we all began standing around
each other's buildings, eating,

and bringing more buildings with us.

When the air started thinning,
we sang that living was like this. We sang
for the ambulance

in front of the house. We waved.

The doctors stood around
mumbling
and checking off racing forms.

You breathed out and out
over the back wall you made
out of coke bottles.

Someone in the other room
was playing a piano.

What are we going to do now,
we asked, placing sandwiches

in front of the empty seat
over and over,

until that's all there was.

Copyright © 2009 John Gallaher All rights reserved
from The Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission