My Last Reward Poem by P K Joy

I’m writing this letter from my grave
On the day you put me to rest,
To thank you world for the reward you gave
For my sixty years’ work without rest.

A bath you gave, really quick and cold.
Wrapped the body in garments that are torn and old.
Whiffed a cheap perfume that has offset the body stench.
And bought for me a coffin that is short by almost an inch.
Laid a wreath on which your name has conspicuously shone.
It appeared it was meant to make your big deed known!

On the path to the graveyard you’ve strewn white flower petals.
Engaged undertaker’s van, a bundle of rusted metals.
A funeral service read out from a book’s pre-printed pages.
And paid the grave-diggers their prescribed minimum wages.

The sigh of relief you let out while leaving the graveyard,
To search for my keys, wasn’t the last part of the reward!
You observed in my office a three minutes’ standing silence
And sent to my bereaved wife a letter of (feigned) condolence!

Oh men! You are thinking that you’ve fooled me with these doles
And that I had expected more from you mean souls.
No, no, surely I didn’t expect; what I say is true.
For, real reward for my services doesn’t come from you.

True reward is contentment that I served you to my best
And to you fellowmen I’d ever been sincere and honest.
The Lord gave me mercifully the strength and will to work.
Faithfully I employed them to serve Him through you folk.
When He calls me to submit to Him my book of account to check
You don’t know, but I know well how good my book will look!