A Handful for the Old Guy

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I don't know what they were talking about!  And it was not dust, or ashes either, like they said.  What they threw on me was dirt, you understand?  DIRT!

...Like saying I was ashes, you know?, something all burned up.  Or dust: stuff covering everything in your house that you'd prefer to get rid of.  Ashes and dust: See what I mean? 

AND then, when actions speak louder even than what they were saying on this solemn occasion... DIRT!  "That's him," they seem to say: "the dirt.  We're gonna pour this on him, in handfuls."

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Oh, well, somebody threw on a flower too...  Probably took it from the dead old lady down the row a little ways. 

Anyway, they might have thought it was a flower.  I'd say myself it was a weed: ragweed, you know?  Sort of fluffy. 

Maybe they thought it was a lily, but really...

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Nothing much to look at... Did I tell you about my first MRI fifteen years ago?

That was no fun either.  Why'd I think of that now?

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I didn't have a good angle to see this afternoon, but there may have been someone there I used to know.  Maybe not.  Probably not, as I consider it more.

But come on, really: weeds and dirt?

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Call me sentimental, you know?  Call me sentimental, but sometimes it's kind of nice to think back, to remember in its details some particular event or occasion...

Not now, though.  Ohhh no...

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Now I think of it: ragweed always made my eyes itch.  Or was that goldenrod?

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