Many of the dead are quite entertaining,
tell good jokes. They’ll hold your hand
and say, “Enjoy what you can of life.
Most of it is crap.” Cemeteries,

comfortable living rooms you can
cozy up in with a dead person
from an earlier century, talk

freely. You can’t hide from the dead.
They see all, even tree roots,
know an elm’s secrets, how lilacs plan.
Only the living dead chill us. They say

“Crave war. Buy stuff.” Vampires,
they soothe, sharpen their teeth. The world,
their virgin, and it’s getting dark.

Kenneth Pobo