mortuary college

i

attended

the most

prestigious self proclaimed

mortuary college

in the world

thanks to joseph clark

and his chemical

talents

cincinnati is funeral director mecca

oldest

wisest

my professors

were the men who wrote the books

on thanatochemistry, anatomy, and embalming

or if not

they claimed to know ed johnson

i placed my name upon the hallowed roster

believing if i were an undertaker

i could control death

i would mint the coins

for the ferryman

cautionary tales of whoa

and probability and statistics

50% leave within five years of

entering the profession

i was not deterred

my stubborn resolve strengthened

oh, i beg your pardon

no, not me, sir and madame

as i began to assist

inject

learn

serve

lift

dress

cosmetize

give warm needed embraces

offer tissue

bury

arrange the honor guard

and bury

my determination never waivered

even as i began to write about it

take pictures of it

and even marry the required reading

my eyes never wandered

it wasn’t the tears

the agony

the wasted lives

the lifting

the smell

or the never ending hours

it was all a labor of love

a ministry

it wasn’t even the

bottle of bourbon kept

in the back room of the basement behind

the prep room

we all needed to be there from

time to time

my love for the world’s noblest profession

turned cold for one reason

the constant reminder

that i

and everyone i love

will all

too soon

be

clients