In between the rain drops

The sleek black Lincoln

hearse is double parked

on King Street. The customary

coach for an honored custom.

Sitting silent, waiting for

the funeral at St Patricks

to end. Soft choral music

leaks out the side door.

The shrieks of children

in the schoolyard below

float up the driveway

reflect off the glossy hearse.

The storm has passed

leaving the last brown

winter leaves and twigs

blown off the trees

stranded just beyond

the gutter tracing lacy

patterns with the debris.

The magnolias though

have hung on to their

white and pink blossoms.

Too early yet to drop them.

The children’s laughs

and shouts now replaced

by ravens’ squawks,

engine noise, church bells.

The funeral has ended.

The rain is back, gentle

this time, but I wonder

how much more before

this place is drunk?