The most important thing—
conduct yourself with
courtesy. Don’t talk.
Walk your dog quietly
on the November grass
in its mourning coat
of late-day light.
When the car appears
in private cortege
leave. Leave well enough
alone. Concede the yard.
Help grief to its privacy.
There is little to see—
a few tears, names
and dates so small
you bow to read them.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 4.
Jeff McRae lives in Vermont. His poems have appeared in Massachusetts Review, Antioch Review, Salamander, Beloit Poetry Journal, The Common, and elsewhere. New poems appear or are forthcoming in Mudfish, Rattle, One Art, A-Minor Magazine, and Northern New England Review.
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