Memorial Day

For those that came before us.

All my friends are at the river.
Drinking...
partining...
having a good time.
I picked up the key
and walked inside.
There were no long lines-
no tour guide available.
So I
looked around myself.
The stack of books-
the pictures
the furniture.
Someone of importance once lived here.

Look at the writings!
And the smell-ah, the smell of humanity!

This person knows a lot of people.

I didn't want to touch anything.
I didn't want to sit anywhere.

After all,
this was in the desert.

I needed to get out before someone gets home.
I opened the door to leave, and I walked into a room with a high ceiling, and a low burning flame.
Ravels' "Pavan" was heard in the
background.

I stayed for what seemed hours.

What do we really represent?

I pass by the stones that mark
the graves.
To what is due-to these-
memories?
I then pass by the mounuments-ideas or ornaments?

They built a bar near a tomb so as to not disturb.

It became crowded; I guess no one heard.

I looked in the mirror -
and saw the next tourist.