Christopher Hanson

Surviving a Funeral

Wear a tie, take mints if you feel like talking.
Tissues? That depends on how things are flowing.
Pack some, just in case of a sudden cold snap.
Sit near a window.

While the priest is talking about the dead, you’ll
need to have a focus, to cancel thinking.
Stations of the Cross are a good distraction;
Study the carving.

Look around; don’t focus upon the coffin.
Grab the hymnal, read through a song. While grieving
relatives croak eulogies, plan your dinner —
anything neutral.

Leaving, put your sunglasses on, no matter
what the weather’s like (it’s a common practice —
clouds can dazzle, too, just as streams of sunlight
blaze the emotions).

Shake the hand. Don’t look in the eye. Compassion
earns its name in understood recognition.
Say some brief and well-rehearsed words of solace.
Fill in the guest-book.

Getting Even

“In seeking vengeance, dig an extra grave,”
self-righteous folk would tell us. Is it true
that he who meekly turns his cheek will save
his soul? Oh, start the violins. Boo-hoo.
Iago had it right: you play the heart
against the mind; store grievances for years
if necessary, plotting how each part
completes the deadly whole. You shed false tears
and bear false gifts; you drop a gentle lie,
a casual observation, poisoned seed
for willing birds. You watch your victim die
by slow degrees. A dish served cold indeed.
You want some closure? Vengeance not enough?
Just dig one grave — the proverb is a bluff.