Young Coffin and Old Coffin
It was a young coffin, sleek-slated,
burgeoning with purpose, its cottony
mouth opening and closing just to freak
the fuck out of people in funeral home
but the older coffin cleared its oaken throat,
whispered stern wisdom and caution, which
the young coffin ignored because, really,
what the hell did the old coffin know, anyway?
It had never been used, just sat on bored display
for people to shiver over as they peered into it
and considered the feeling of being no more,
shaking their blue and gray heads in self-pity.
The young coffin knew all the tricks, called
the Grim Reaper a close personal friend, dealt
cards weekly with the undertaker and his family,
and told jokes both the living and the dead got,
but the old coffin kept its own counsel, waiting
for its chance to prove its worth, to be lowered
into the dirt, to be the final home for someone
that someone still loved and came to visit often.