Reserved For Relatives

The rows pass by
she’s on automatic today.
They blur with emotions, as much as she may try the
tears fall regardless of the day.

Hard wood reaches her bum and she
looks to her left, son and daughter.
Warm-hearted, grumpy teen
cries inwardly for Grampa.

Heart of stone, and shattered glass,
Mature young woman now
stares bored, not thinking of what’s passed.
Mother stares (unsympathetic child) at the cow.

Eyes revert to the feeling child.
Little boy in a big mans clothes.
His eyes roam jerky and wild, mother’s so proud of her
Little baby, grumpy teen and still his tears show.

Reverent George throws his collar on the floor.
Eyes turn, ears tune; “Let’s put our minds to dear Fred,
late of us.”