The red labeled bottle on the table
The room in the hotel with the hunting pictures
Yellow streaks on his face.
Death by misadventure
Temporary insanity
The greatest disgrace to have in the family

They say the man who does it is a coward
But it is not for us to judge

More dead for them than for me
More dead for them than for me

A sudden death
The best death
A moment and all is over
Then shovelling them under the cartload doublequick.

Every mortal day a fresh batch
Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpses
Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley.
His last lie on the earth in his box.

If little Rudy lived.
If I could see him grown
Hear his voice in the house.
My son. Me in his eyes.
Strange feeling it would be. From me.
I could have helped him on in life.

Would he bleed if a nail cut him in the knocking about?
I suppose the circulation stops.
Still some might ooze from an artery.
It would be better to bury them in crimson

Both ends meet
The coffin dived out of sight
All honeycombed the ground must be
The blood sinking in earth gives new life