Funeral Procession

The light changed to green.
Bill sat.
I sat.
The car idled.
Green became red and green again.
Idling still
I lost track of the cycles
mesmerized by the mourners
at midday headlights on high
lighting the way of the road
the deceased must travel
bringing gifts to the tomb
befitting the burial of a Pharaoh.

The passive grave waits
lives abandoned to grief.
Who will miss their plane for me
or will only the grave wait?

—Timmothy J. Holt

A retired physician, Timmothy J. Holt has long been interested in the intersection of science and art, particularly the relationship between literature and healing. He is a poet as well as a playwright; Teddy’s Nightmare and Aurora Borealis have been produced and his poetry has or will appear in A&U, Eunoia Review, Sloth Jockey, and Grey Sparrow Journal.

August 2011