Murky skies, murky mood. Going home is expected for these kinds of events. Somber, bitter exhibitions held for the living to perform grievous posturing, outdoing hired mourners.
Firstborn son, blessed girl-child – she is the twin of you! – coming together telling stories, feigning good memories, lying to keep the vultures in check.
Do the ebony suits, the filigree veils, hide their deceptions from onlookers or themselves?
Hymns, sung with befitting sorrow betwixt bogus sobs, solicit guilt-ridden tithes to overflowing collection boxes, their penitence for indifferent negligence.
The stern eulogy is the most inopportune time for one lone giggle to slip out.