Rolling Cigar Casket

His coffin not covered by fog, but

Cigarette stubs and smog of ashes,

What was once hard ground

Has become a boiling, dilapidated bog

The humid air full with miasmic slander,

Wrought with gaseous words

Like the smell, not too dissimilar

Of lingering skunk excrement

Whether it was the body that’s life was leaking

Or them was unsure but

Their actions masterfully conceal their

Dirt and soiled wicked desires,

They were weeping, now

They are solemnly—so very solemnly, inhaling cigars

“A shame" they say, " without him the Company will be a little less endurable"

There were umbrellas, but were soon gone

Cigars heeled into the ground and stocked up

Like a sapling, this sapling burning

Head to stem

And over this great man he rests,

Choking, surrounded not by love ,

But a reminder

Of the life he had once succumbed to

And in his grave he is rolling,

Under dried cement,

Against his Cuban Cigars

And no one seemed to notice

It had been struck aflame

Now his whole casket underground

Was jostling, roaring ,rolling, and on fire,

And the Earth that day

Smoked a huge rolling cigar casket