Left and right
magnolias,
mauve-white, drop their petals.

In the middle,
out through an arch of pale grey stone—
perfect for home viewing, double-framed—
the bodies come.

Their bearers cup them
under armpits, knees,
shuffling the sag of lifelessness
away:

out the doors,
down the steps,
thirty-one times.

In the pockets of the dead,
cell phones ring.

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                                                            Abbott Ikeler

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