il faut des rites

what have you got
now
that hate is dead
she came to the funeral
a perfect day
bagpipes played
out of time
out of place
“huh?
i see no britons
scots
irish...."
and so she groped
for a cigarette
how much longer
and the mourners saw
that morning passed
they saw it
on their watches
and heard the tolling bells
tell tales of hours
fondling their cell phones
set to vibrate
and thinking of other things
like living
not dying
even though they could all
just have died
for a hot cup of coffee
or latte
but they sure knew how
to play the part
of mister
miss
despair
handkerchiefs
sunglasses concealing
mischief
eyes wandering
to mister
miss
anyone other
than the ones they were with
life goes on
ain’t that a shame
hate is dead
long live hate
you would have liked this....