[The thirteenth installment of the month-long poetry sequence that began on October 1st.]
"Attention, Please"
Edgar Granderson
Tombstones are tipped over everywhere,
Flowers trampled and bushes uprooted.
Statues have been reduced to plaster shards
And grave soil chewed up as if rototilled.
I've been heaping blame on the monster all month long
But saved my most mischievous effort for tonight,
Figuring such rampant desecration would bring
Most of Grantwood out here to Holy Ghost Cemetery.
(Seems that's the only time the town takes any interest in
Its lone caretaker--in where I live and work,
Landscaping for the dead seven days a week.)
Yet here I am now, all by myself, in the dark.
I tried calling the sheriff, the mayor, even the Gazette,
And got no answer but machines on all three attempts.
I can't understand it: just where the hell is everybody?
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