After The Funeral
by Robert VanderMolen
There was talk of fishing, cancer
And the stock exchange. The trick
Said Denny, is to be a contrarian,
Not many have such self–control.
I moved toward the new widow, halfway
Across and was intercepted by Chrissie,
In jeans, just returned from Prague,
Who whispered, this is like a Fellini flick.
My wife pointed at her watch
Others arrived, loosening
Their clothes like theatre–goers
In from the cold. Hankies and small purses
You old trout, said Denny, pink–faced.
Doug winked without moving his mouth.
Doubles for everyone, Denny instructed,
Winging around to locate the barmaid
In her German peasant outfit, lingering
Behind the bar to finish her drink.
Denny, I said, help me push some tables
Together . . .
Let’s try to be helpful, said his wife June
Tugging on his sleeve like an orphan