Poem

I remember the Frau
who took my order

as I stared towards
the aging cemetery

on the day after Christmas

which reeks of satiated but
disappointed children

and seasons greeting yet
to be dismantled

I should not have spoken
I should have thought instead

All seemed to be forgotten
Two days hence

I gazed
past weed-covered

ill-kept resting places
of the dead.

upwards towards
an ancient elm