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Replying to a comment on:
Pine Boxes (revised) (Free verse) by Joe-joe There are bones clamoring.
Where mold and mildew rein supreme,
where deep accents seep through aging pine
and a song plays in lieu of cold rumors.
Shadows have no place to hide there
and suits fair no better than ragged shawls.
The neighbors?...they no longer peak from behind broken blinds.
The bills?... they no longer hold sway
for you have paid a debtorâs debt.
And the kids?...they laugh on as you once did
not noticing their fading silhouette,
unable to hear that old Thomas A. Dorsey tune
that rings out to you in perfect perpetuity...
encased so neatly in a sweet scent of pine.
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