Unsaid

Even the shampoo salesman  attended the funeral, 

sat by Gary and Guelda lathering up his sympathy, 

strength of faith, power of prayer,

promise of lavender. 



Jo Ann stole glances at the shampoo salesman, 

touched the back of her head. Definitely 

a sympathy card with birds, 

wild weeds reaching skyward. 



During the eulogy the salesman’s leaky thoughts 

drifted toward water, its insistence 

on touching everything, unlike air 

that embraces with space. Really,



he thought, he’d like to run his fingers

through everything, even the dandelion pods 

floating past the graveside service 

he’s not invited to.