Pleasant View Cemetery
Shiny brutish SUV
with the Bush-Chaney bumper sticker
blocking the one road in the cemetery.
Well, that’s what you get.
The middle-aged man in jeans and tee-shirt
is crouching in the sun in front
of his wife’s grave, with flowers in his hand.
I stroll by, pretending not to look,
and marvelling how he holds
his position: the ache, the
strain of the thighs, the flowers
(from what I can see)
unwavering.
At least, I assume it’s his wife.
It might be his father’s grave
or even his son’s.
I assume a lot of things.
He turns around and I’m a
murderer or worse – or rather
I and my assumptions are.