Sometimes when Im jogging
in the cemetery,
I steal a few
quarters from Naughton
because I need them
for the parking meters
when Im driving.
This I confide to a friend
over lunch, adding:
Naughton has plenty
and doesnt drive anymore anyway,
and its not like Naughtons neighbors
notice. Plus his descendents
keep replenishing them
it must be some kind of tradition,
like placing stones, or flowers
and then theres the tradition
Im upholding: the grave-
robbers tradition, the living taking from the dead
what the dead have no need of.
My friend stops chewing.
He looks alarmed, pillaged,
like he just bit down on something hard
and realized it was his own filling.
Put the quarters back, he says.
The dead have need. They have need.
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