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crematorium

C.W. Bryan

in the summer
of my first year in school
i got a part time gig
at a funeral home
hauling caskets
down to the basement
where i tossed them in a
great big toaster oven
called the crematorium.

they paid pretty good
and i didn’t have to talk
to anyone.
people don’t even look
your way with a casket
in your hands.

one day some old
fuck was being
showed and burned.
pardon the
expression but the man
was a landlord
over on berne st where
the houses go for
3k a month. in the eulogy
his wife had
the audacity to say
that he was beloved
by his tenants. i rolled my
eyes and cracked
my knuckles.

the service ended
as they always do. people
slouch their shoulders
and file out
of the lobby one by one
like lemmings. i slipped
the gloves on, and went
to close the casket and bring
the beloved man to
the crematorium.

before i could lift the guy
for the last time, i saw
this woman, short skirt,
black veil, crying
over the casket. i backed away
slowly, quietly but
before i could sneak
back out, I saw her slip her
hand in the box. she
grabbed the poor corpses
hand and squeezed any
leftover life out of it.
the corpse made her a gift
of a fat gold watch.

she stuffed it in her
little black purse and
ran crying out of the room.
i don’t think
she ever saw me.

his body burned all
the same, watch or not.

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