I found lots to do.
I did it, and did it fine, several times and
without you.
In the graveyard,
I made a totem, out of oak leaves and sticks.
I woke Kathryn, wife and mother,
and together, we hit the bricks.
"Kath, babe," I said, as we sprung the grounds crew's traps,
"Wear my jacket. Feel the leather. It's your size."
Then we danced on the roof of the grounds crew's shack,
and that was a lively enterprise.
Later, by the chain link fence,
I held Kath's head on my lap.
I leaned down and kissed her, Mister Kath, Son of Kath.
Now, what d'you think about that?
That evening, by the mausoleum,
she confided that she rarely sees 'em.
Fair enough, quoth Kath, while kicking her feet;
it's been years and years since they saw me.
Boo. It's us. The graveyard girls from plot forty-five.
Dirty as bird's nests, slipping out the gate,
devil-may-care, revived, alive,
with wive's tales to perpetuate.
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