November 8: "Cemetery Ride," Weird Week, Orange Sections

At the end of this long, dark, weird week, I can honestly say that I haven't listened to or read any news reports about the Felon in Chief.  I simply can't.  Eight years ago, I dreaded checking my news feed in the morning.  Hated his voice and face and stupidity.  I sometimes harbored pretty scary wishes in my heart against him, including death.  I'm not proud of those thoughts, but I own them.  These last few days, I've found the same thoughts returning.

Billy Collins takes a bike ride . . .

Cemetery Ride

by: Billy Collins

My new copper-colored bicycle
is looking pretty fine under a blue sky 

as I pedal along a sandy path 

in the Palm Cemetery here in Florida,

wheeling past the headstones of the Lyons, 

the Campbells, the Dunlaps, and the Davenports, 

Arthur and Ethel, who outlived him by 11 years. 

I slow down even more to notice,

but not so much as to fall sideways on the ground. 

And here’s a guy named Happy Grant 

next to his wife Jean in their endless bed. 

Annie Sue Simms is right there and sounds

a lot more fun than Theodosia S. Hawley. 

And good afternoon, Emily Polasek, 

and to you too, George and Jane Cooper, 

facing each other in profile, two sides of a coin.

I wish I could take you all for a ride 

in my wire basket on this glorious April day, 

not a thing as simple as your name, Bill Smith, 

even trickier than Clarence Augustus Coddington.

Then how about just you, Enid Parker? 

Would you gather up your voluminous skirts 

and ride sidesaddle on the crossbar 

and tell me what happened between 1863 and 1931?

I’ll even let you ring the silver bell. 

But if you’re not ready, I can always ask 

Mary Brennan to rise from her long sleep 

beneath the swaying gray beards of Spanish moss

and ride with me along these halls of the dead

so I can listen to her strange laughter 

as some crows flap overhead in the blue 

and the spokes of my wheels catch the dazzling sun.

I've loved walking through cemeteries since I was a kid.  (That should have been a clue that I was going to grow up to be a poet.)  I'm fascinated by the history that can be witnessed through the headstones.  Wars.  Flu epidemics.  Tragic accidents.  Military service.  Long love affairs.  It's all there if you pay attention and read between the birth and death dates.

I'm wondering if there are going to be whole new sections in cemeteries after the Felon in Chief is sworn in for his second term in the Oval Office.  Think about it.  During his first term, because of his mishandling of the COVID-19 pandemic, 1,219,487 people died in the United States.  (If you're a pandemic denier, please move onto another blog.  Might I suggest something maintained by the KKK?)  That's a whole lot of new graves in his first term.

Here comes term number two.

Certainly, more women are going to die because of the overturning of Roe v. Wade and the possible nation-wide abortion ban.  Then there're people of color, LGTBQIA+ people, and poor people--all targets.  Affordable healthcare might be going bye-bye, including the price cap on bottles of insulin.  (Being an insulin-dependent diabetic since I was 13 years old, I know about having to ration insulin because I couldn't afford to buy any.)  I could go on.

Needless to say, cemetery rides might take quite a bit longer once January 20, 2025, rolls around because of the new orange sections.

Saint Marty hopes he's wrong.  Prays that he's wrong.