In The Room Next Door
At a funeral
for a civil engineer, like me
a poem was read
about death being nothing at all
Not something that separates us
just going to a room nearby
and waiting for your friends
to join you
I liked the imagery
and the notion
that nothing can tear apart
a true friendship
and imagined being in that other room
waiting
waiting
and then noticing
here, alone in eternity
there are no clocks
and no one in that room I just left
really liked me that much, either
so, without realizing it
the poem comforted me
knowing that although eternity
might get monotonous
we could at least wander around
I could go to the other rooms of eternity
and see who’s there
possibly finding a soulmate
to spin yarns with
and kill some time
so back here in real life
I went into the salon next door where
there was another funeral
so I had a look
at the deceased
stared at him a bit
committed his face to memory
and then listened to a Bible passage
which was all about God
and Exodus 33
where He says no one can see His face
and live
and putting two and two together
I thought maybe the departed saw God’s face
and it killed him
I cast aside that thought
and instead reasoned that I should get to know
as many faces as possible
right here
so that maybe
when one of them walked in
that empty room of mine
in the next world
we could comfort each other
when we finally saw His face
so I introduced myself to this guy’s widow
and stared at her
who knows?
maybe she would be the one who wanders
into that far off clockless room
mixing up me for him
my room for his
and she said
‘You’re in the wrong parlor
funerals for engineers are held in Room ‘B’
you’re in A
Harold was a dentist
maxillofacial & corrective jaw surgery
rhinoplasty and oculoplastics’
so that poem was wrong about death
it separates us
me in my room
Harold in his with
that glorious, corrected smile
then I noticed
a Bulova on her wrist
it said dinnertime
so I went home