The dirt piled on one side, While the hole got deeper. They came to bury you today, All starched, pressed, and perfect. They stand in a perfect circle, As if they had rehearsed for this moment, Or have just gone to one too many. You can hear the wind moaning In tune to the dirge just for you. And while the leaves are dancing, They fall on the lid On your black-lacquered home, In exhaustion. No more living Just for Friday to come, Paying your bills, And shaving your legs. No nursing of broken hearts, Birthday cakes, Disaster dates Nor orgasms faked. You were Good. Kind. Perfect daughter, Model wife, Loving and smart. Everyone claims you were The bestfriend they ever had. Will you be missed? I guess you can Hold your breath On that thought Forever.