The ancient yellow bulldozer
chuffs up the hill
past weathered tombstones.
The dead need more room.
They will always need more room.
See how they spill out
onto the road.
The ancient yellow bulldozer
uproots greenery
rips out trees
clears another ten acres of woodland.
The dead need more room.
They will always need more room.
Arms, legs, torsos
tumble about
obliterate shoulders
clog culverts
create road hazards.
The ancient yellow bulldozer
pauses. The groundskeepers take out measuring sticks
and begin to dissect the clearing
into four-by-eight foot plots.
The dead need more room.
They will always need more room.
They are desperate.
They are insistent.
Their eyeless sockets scan the horizon.
They will take action
if necessary.
The ancient yellow bulldozer
moves on
under a shroud of blue smoke.
