GRAVE DANCERS

She said, “When he dies I shall dance on his grave.”

He, being such a loathsome man, I imagine she won’t be alone.

In fact there may be hundreds of grave dancers.

Moving to their own personal dirge.

Arms waving, hands clapping, feet tapping

Eyes twinkling and smiles so big our cheeks will hurt.

Swaying to the caws of ravens and the howling wolves of his slights and insults

His grave marker will read “It’s about time!”

We’ve all pitched in and with the numbers so large

We only had to contribute mere pennies apiece for his epitaph.

She said, “When he dies I shall dance on his grave.”

Dusting off her ballet slippers.

Kathy Keogh

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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