The Business of the Final Journey

 

Welcome to the parlor of rest,

where silence is sold upfront,

and the dead man’s gentle smile

comes courtesy of makeup well done.

 

Here no clients ever complain,

no refunds for poor service,

the bodies arrive, the living pay,

and profit blooms without pretense.

 

The coffin may gleam in mahogany,

or sag in cheap pine, wallet decides,

for even in the elegant grave

criticism never truly dies.

 

Flowers wither, grief is invoiced,

the mass scheduled right on time,

and the corpse, so quiet, never protests

if austerity’s package is assigned.

 

O funeral home, temple of profit,

where death is dressed in gala attire,

and the departed, voiceless, futureless,

is the perfect client… who never complains.

 

Done