Once upon a time there was a funeral director
who had words spoken about him behind his back.
“He’s 73” “Never married” “Like a robot”
were some of them.
“Just once it would be good to see him show something...
Anything” was another.
But he faced his duties with a stony gaze –
a dry cinder block.
Only at night did he erupt –
tears for his never-wife and never-children,
asking himself why his fear to love
had led him to mourn them anyway.
