by Shaughnessy Bishop-Stall

Mostly it worked out okay.
There's only one problem now.
The body just won't stay buried
and I can't get anything done because of it.
It keeps interrupting
makes it hard to write.
Often, by the time I've realized what's happened
and got my boots on
and found the shovel
he's already made it into the house
just standing there
not able to talk
those dead eyes
and I want to say I'm sorry
offer him a beer or something.
It's amazing what he can dig his way through
rocks and tree roots
and the yard is starting to look like a mine field.
When I forget to lock the back door at night
he comes and sits on the couch
stares at the wall
those dead eyes
or stands over us in bed until I awake
hair frozen in a pile on his head
and I want to say I'm sorry.
He's not trying to make me feel guilty
just doesn't like being under the ground.
Sometimes, when I come home late
he's lying next to her as she sleeps
under the covers
his body still.
It's gotten so I keep a shovel next to the night table
so I sit in the kitchen all day
smoking cigarettes
looking out the window
waiting for his fingers to appear above the turf.
That's the worst part
stomping them back down
fingernails snapping off.

It just shouldn't be like this
It was so well taken care of
so definitely so dead
and buried
first so well so deep.
Now each time it's more difficult
with the ground freezing
and his flesh decomposing
And after all we've been through
I just hate to see him like this.

Source: Headlight Anthology, no. 2, 1999, pp. 82–83.