The Pine Box

The disappointment tastes like wine

On this parched tongue of mine

I talked for, what seemed like hours

To the stoic crowd, their faces all sour

The smell of pine

Is a favorite scent of mine

A box so shiny and seven feet long

They’re playing his favorite song

His cheeks are not sunken like they were

Now they smile at me, “Oh, hello there, Sir”

The glue they use to keep his eyes closed

Smells like chemicals and it burns my nose

But I kiss his forehead and tell him goodbye

I turn to walk out my head held high

The sea of people part for me

I smile to myself that he’s finally free