Bury My Bones

 

There are certain days

when one does not want to dig graves.

They’re cold, and wet, and gray,

when inside is just a better place to stay.

 

But there are certain bodies

that just will not wait

for better weather,

bodies with no names

and no relations

to make the final claims.

 

Down at the county morgue

Ed knew the body had been too long stored,

and there was no hope of the weather

ever becoming better.

And since no one was ever going to put flowers on his plot,

who would ever know if this poor stiff were buried or not?

 

So laid out on the slab,

Ed commenced to split

that poor unclaimed body into parts

small enough to fit inside

those plastic bags for the trash.

And when dragged up to the curb,

Ed went up to take his bath.

 

It could have been a tree in the wind slapping

that made the soft rapping

that sat Ed straight up in his bed.

He couldn’t be sure.

It could have been footsteps

crossing the downstairs floor…

 

And it could have been the wind,

but then, Ed heard it again,

this time loud and clear,

calling out from the bottom of the stairs

with a voice that was more a moan,

“Ed!  Ed! Bury my bones.”

 

No!  No!  It couldn’t be!

Ed didn’t believe in such things.

It was indigestion

or a hallucination –

all part of a bad dream,

that would explain…

But the footsteps started up the stairs,

and Ed felt the hairs

on the back of his neck begin to rise,

as he heard once again that moan:

“Ed!  Ed!  Bury my bones.”

 

Closer, closer to his door,

Ed heard the footsteps cross the floor.

Again and again he heard that moan:

“Ed!  Ed!  Bury my bones!”

 

There are certain things

that science cannot explain: 

pyramids and tombs

and mummified remains –

And that half-dug grave in the county plot,

where was found the mutilated remains of some poor sot,

and Ed,

both half-buried in the mud,

and both very, very dead.

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