Funeral

Alex Larsson

     Gregory, a man of about 80, would wake up every morning and prepare for the day. He would comb his long white beard, straighten the few remaining hairs around his head and rinse his dentures from the evenings soak. He always wore the same dark blue suit. It was a three piece suit. The buttons on the vest have loosened over the years and a few have come completely off. Gregory didn't mind. In fact, he hardly noticed it.

     He waded through the bits of balled up writing paper on the floor and passed the stacks of newspaper that lined the hallway. He got to the front door and began to open it before he realized he was lacking his twinkle. Gregory's twinkle was the last remaining square of his childhood blanket. He didn't go anywhere without the security of it being in his pocket. He snatched up his twinkle and was ready to take his daily walk through the cemetery.

     Gregory loved walking through the local cemetery. He found it serene. He walked up and down the aisles of headstones looking at all the names. He knew them by heart. But to Gregory, the cemetery wasn't a solemn place, it was a place full of memories and stories. And it was a place of nature.

     Gregory found out early on that there was much more wildlife in this cemetery than in a normal park. He always accustomed it to the small patch of woods that surrounded the cemetery and the pond that was added for comfort for the grieving. And of course there weren't many people that would walk through the cemetery so the animals didn't have a constant threat of humans. Gregory found so much life in this garden of death.

     Gregory had his favorite spot to sit. There was an old gazebo near the pond that was added in the 50's; again for some sort of scenic relief from all of the headstones. Gregory would sit in the gazebo for what seemed like hours. Watching the birds fly in and out, the two swans that always inhabited the pond and the countless squirrels that would greet him with walnuts. There he would get the chance to visit with his favorite squirrel, Wally.

     Wally was a very old squirrel. Wally had the typical greyish-brown color of a squirrel except that he had a unique black spot on his chest. Wally loved this black spot to be rubbed and Gregory would soothe Wally with the occasional petting. Gregory and Wally had a great connection that Gregory didn't seem to find with other humans. Gregory even had conversations with Wally in which Wally would blink in a certain way or cock his head in the slightest. It really seemed like Wally understood Gregory and what he was feeling.

     But on this day he didn't see Wally. He sat in the gazebo for several hours waiting for Wally to join him but he wasn't showing up. Gregory was quickly getting nervous and removed his twinkle from his pocket. Anytime Gregory was uneasy or panicky, he would wring his twinkle in this fists. Twisting and turning it. The soft cloth against his hands reminded him of his peaceful childhood in his parents' home. No fear or worry would accompany him there.

     Gregory was getting especially worked up today though. It was a bit dreary out with a slight fog. The mist in the air kept wetting his face but he didn't dare use his twinkle to clear his eyes. He really needed to talk to Wally this day. He needed some comfort from his dear friend but he was nowhere to be found. He kept twisting his twinkle in his hands without thinking about his strength. He heard a tear. He looked down and realized he ripped his twinkle. He ripped his twinkle. He tore his security in two. His calm and his peace were destroyed. He sat there bewildered and in shock. He was convinced that his life was ending, it all must come to an end.

     He had spent so many years walking through this cemetery and sitting in this cemetery. He thought that he maybe had wasted his years being alone walking through this den of decay. He strolled home vowing to never return. He wanted to change his life and become social again. He wanted to look up his old friends and family and reconnect with them.

It was only about a week later that Gregory returned to the cemetery though. Again, with his beard combed, his few remaining hairs straightened and his dentures freshly cleaned from the evenings soak. He was wearing his signature, dark blue three piece suit and of course, tucked in his pocket were two rectangles of old cloth; his twinkle. This time however he didn't walk through the cemetery, he was carried. He was in his very own cherry wood casket.

     Gregory didn't have enough time to reconnect with his friends and family before he died. It was too late to contact any of them and catch up. No one showed up to his funeral and no one was there to say good bye when he was lowered into the ground.

     Just before the grounds crew began to shovel the dirt on top of the casket, there were a few knocks on the cherry wood lid. The grounds crew saw a squirrel, a very old looking squirrel with a black spot on its chest dropping a few walnuts on the casket. Knock, knock, knock. They also noticed the two swans flying above them going back and forth. The two swans almost never left the comfort of the pond. Wally, the swans and the countless other animals all knew Gregory and they wanted to say good bye.

     There was still plenty of life in this garden of death.

     My parody is imitating the story of “Rip Van Winkle” by Washington Irving. I wanted to write with a sense of romanticism. Gregory and Rip have many similarities. Both men enjoyed being alone in nature. They both viewed “nature as a refuge” (Reuben), a very romantic theme. Rip would leave his duties to venture into the woods. Regarding Rip, Irving writes, “to escape from the labor of the farm and clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods” (Irving). And likewise with Gregory, he would forget his home, leave it in tatters and go to the cemetery. They both disregarded their duties to seek solace in nature.

     They both also had an animal companion. Rip had his dog, wolf, to keep him company while Gregory had Wally to be his friend. Gregory even had conversations with Wally. While this is yet another example of his connection with nature, I think it also shows the “use of the odd and queer” (Reuben). You see, talking to an animal isn't exactly normal. I think plenty of people do it but most don't feel like the animal is engaging in the conversation. With Gregory, Wally seems to be engaged with Gregory and seems to follow along with the conversation. This is most definitely “odd and queer” (Reuben).

     There is also this “sense of terror; fear” (Reuben) in both stories. In “Funeral,” Gregory becomes worried when he doesn't have Wally hanging out with him. He really needs Wally in this moment and becomes incensed with anxiety. It then grabs for his security blanket and actually rips it. He destroys his sense of security which only makes him that much more uneasy. And in “Rip Van Winkle,” the fear is coming from the townsfolk. After Van Winkle comes back to town after several years of sleeping, the townsfolk don't recognize this stranger. They say, “A tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him!” (Irving). They are fearful of who this man is and who this man could be.

The Unknown Alley

“Joshua, we have to go. We're running late,”

     my mother calls.

I grab my favorite matchbox t-bird;

     I'm ready for any adventure now.

She takes my hand and we set off down the street.

We turn down an alley I haven't seen.

The sun is setting,

     the sight serene.

She stops at a house to speak with a stranger.

I peek in the garage full of parts.

Tires, bumpers, spark plugs and gaskets.

Only sun rays shine through the windows.

I see the accumulated dust.

My nostrils flare,

     gasoline, black oil, motor grease.

This is where cars go to die?

With wrenches, hammers

     only a few can survive.

“Joshua, we are leaving!”

I see a real thunderbird,

     no time to say goodbye.

     My poem is a parody of Walt Whitman's poem “A March In The Ranks Hard-Prest, And The Road Unknown.” I wanted to relate a soldier's experience with that of a young boy's adventure.

     Both poems contain some unknown path. The soldiers, in the middle of the night, are unsure of where they are going. This is a battlefield and anything could happen within a moments notice. The boy in my poem is taking a shorter and less dangerous path. He too is unsure of where he is going but there is no real danger ahead of him. He is taking a stroll down the block with his mother.

     Joshua comes upon a garage full of auto parts. There is gas, engine oil and grease scattered here and there. He can see it and he can smell it. Joshua has a fondness for cars. We know this because he took his favorite toy with him on this adventure; a matchbox thunderbird. He likes cars and knows a little about them but he is unsure of what this garage is used for. He sees bits and pieces of automobiles and he thinks maybe this is where cars go to die.

     In Whitman's poem, something similar occurs. The soldiers have taken an unknown path that has led them to a make shift hospital. There the imagery floods in. Whitman writes, “Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether,/the odor of blood” (ll. 26-27). The scene is grotesque. Bodies are here and there. I can just see pools of blood and smell the ether. The soldier looks around and knows that this is a church that was turned into a temporary hospital but the scene is just odd. This is where soldiers go to die?

     Joshua sees something that he knows. He sees a t-bird that he recognizes. He has an odd connection with this car and he yearns to be with it for sometime. He wants to say goodbye but his mother calls for him to leave. Likewise, the soldier in Whitman's poem sees a young lad fading away. The soldier decides to kneel down and hold the lad in his last few moments of life. The soldier has a connection with this lad and offers some form of a goodbye to him. All the while this soldier was told by his commander to, “Fall in, my men, fall in;” (Whitman l. 36). This soldier had the opportunity to say some sort of goodbye while Joshua didn't have the opportunity, even though he wanted to.

     I also tried to match Whitman's rhythm. This poem's rhythm seems to have a certain pace. One that was fairly easy to follow. It didn't jump back and forth. The poem flowed well to me. While I didn't notice any real rhyming in his poem, I wanted to through in one or two lines that rhymed. I added them because I felt as if it worked with my poem. In this regard, the two poems are similar but are unique.

     And lastly they are both easy to read. I feel like you can read both of them and understand them without much investigation. I think it makes it more accessible if a poem can have depth and can tell a story while being easy to read. I mean, poets want people to read their poems after all.