Zombie Lamentation
should
the
green bronze
corroded
mausoleum door
swing open to a fresh risen
mining magnate whiskey and tobacco cured flesh pink
swollen eyes blinking at twenty first century sunlight jetliners cueing to land
on what he recalled as west plains dirt farms—high above contrails dissipating westward
for an instant he may marvel at what craftsmen wrought
then turn to find remains of mines
family house and
a well lit
place for
a
drink
