Skeleton funeral

I am not too familiar with this place

People park their cars so strangers can arrange them.

They laugh about memories and old stories.

There is a book in the front room. For who? I do not know.

 As for the man here is dead.

We gather around a bag of bones

The people attempted to make pretty.

Some weep, some leave flowers, some pray.

Why are we talking to a dead man?

Why are we looking at this man, dead?

Humans gather from far and near.

To stare at a man who use to be.

They bring old photographs to share.

Why is it ok to sit around a dead man 

as the Sunday sun rises? Whose idea is this?

The man isn’t here anymore.

He can’t defend his thoughts.

Stupid people look at the bones.

They don’t know.

His soul is in the room.