On the way to my house there is a Funeral Home.

Very well positioned, at night it turns on its lights,

and if you come in, will be well received, served with

hot coffee, donuts and very good a conversation.

It is most recently opened in my neighborhood,

and is struggling to compete with another one,

older and more traditional.

Its funeral candles are longer

and long-lasting, made 100% paraffin,

high lighting power; its makeup artist,

graduated in Facial and Body Aesthetics.

I am sure they are captivating and pleasing me,

so, every time we reach such a fatal outcome,       

they can count my family as one faithful client.

Then, we do not have to consult yellow pages,

when sad and ghastly hour knocks on our door.

I do not blame them, it is part of their business,

their livelihood.    

I am returning home by the other hand,

thus, avoiding the view of their store.

But I do not shy away from wishing them

a happy business life, humans and accomplices

on the common destiny to which we are all chained.

This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©