The Second Wake I Wait For You

I may have to hit you
in the head with a shovel
and I don’t want to.

The man on the news
said the dead are rising
from their graves,
said this is the end of the world,
said oh god they’re at the door
they’re at the door
and then he screamed
and the screen went red
and the channel went
to static, to snow, to fuzz
so he’s probably right.

I turned off the television
and then I drove out to the
cemetery at the edge of town
and sat down with
a lantern and the old shovel
we used to keep in the shed.
The sharp grin of the moon
is coming up
and I keep hearing things
rustling in the dark.
I’ll sit down
to wait for you.

Don’t come up.
Don’t come up.
Stay in your box under the ground
and let me remember
the golden coils of your hair
before they get tangled
with grave dirt and coffin splinters,
let me remember your smiling mouth
before it starts trying to bite
through my throat.

This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
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