at least not in public,
unless they slump over on the bus,
while waiting in line,
or overnight, frozen sparrow fashion
come to dust outside
when they'd rather die
than go to a shelter
where they can get knived.
well, you never see them lying in state
in a rotunda, banked with flowers
behind velvet ropes
where the myraids in hushed wonder
pause and look their way.
sometimes they pass away in
no one knows, for days
unless it's someone coming upstairs
to post the eviction notice
for non payment of rent
but you tell me how do you get it sent
from Heaven when the trip's one way
to the house not made with hands.
mary angela douglas 2 april 2016
Note on the poem: I have lived in places where for example a person died in a traffic accident, management did not know and two weeks later posted an eviction notice on the door. I saw it with my own eyes.