POEM: Stone Weeper

In the graveyard kneel so many mourning, wailing widows and widowers — weak-kneed and hanging off tombstones.

Carved of marble or cast of bronze, and meant to last an eon.

How odd to imagine a permanent mourner.

In the time marble can be carved, I’d prefer any subject on my gravestone to be captured leaning back in a boisterous belly-laugh with a beer can in hand.