Poem for the Unknown Dead

The man in black,

proudly took us, for a tour

in the back of the funeral home,

where the dead await

his final touch.

Not a sound,

only the persistent smell

of embalming chemicals,

and the cold, stainless steel

of the mortuary table.

In passing,

I noticed a smaller room,

with clothes, scattered on a shelf.

T'was so quick, I couldn't tell

if they belonged to man or woman.

Along with the clothes,

a brown plastic grocery bag.

filled with things,

and tied in a knot.

So ordinary, it got to me.

An empty bed,

white bottom sheet,

and a rectangular container,

long enough for a human body,

closed, that's all I saw.

So, this is how it ends,

I thought,

and cried, tears of sorrow,

for the unknown dead,

inside the grey box.