carry change and never starve

at the burial service
he rattled change in his pockets
to break up the sob.
no one listened to the eulogy, but they shook their hooves in disapproval.
Diet of Worms.
his eyes undressed
and let in all that light.
he let in color;
let all that heat
that dust
come in.
she still sleeps.
and he hears those runts wane in the hay.
they nurse the farm dry
but won’t grow or die.
“now i get it,”
she stirs under the weight of his body and words; “i’ll run them off,
but not until you’ve had a little coffee
and this service is done.”