The Dear Departed Poem by Thomas Vaughan Jones

We started off at the church.
Our Holy Lady of the Immaculate Conception.
He was Catholic, and a good friend.
Then down to the graveside.
A hole dug by this guy
who sits in a machine opposite us
The Priest stands next to me.
He says
'You can be my altar boy'.
Oy Vey.!
An altar boy?

ME?

I'm just a shmuck.

This isn't Kosher.

The priest hands me
an aspergilla of Holy Water
which I hold in my hand,
eyes shut tight,
concentrating on my bar mitzvah.
Hoping that Jehovah isn't watching.

This doesn't even feel kosher.

Words of Prayer.

Amen!



Then he takes from me the aspergilla.
He sprinkles Holy water into the grave,
gives me the aspergilla back;
So I sprinkle water into the grave,
then I pass it to the dead man’s wife
and his sister..
And the family!
Didn't forget the friends.
They shake and splash.
Frantically, trying
to get the last drops
from the empty vessel.
The Priest looks on blankly
The gravedigger has fallen off his machine.

He's laughing.

Hysterically!

Something tells me,
this isn't

kosher.