It's About Time

There was a funeral procession. The pallbearers, children of eighties, wore roller skates and listened to headphones. The wheel, they claimed, was invented during the famous red scare. Taking everything for granted, cherishing the middle path to the consecrated ground, they got lost in the fog and stopped to have a make-out session by the statue of Mary, the virgin. The aesthetic of dunces who know not what they do, said the old man with the ox cart. He went on chipping horse dung from the first lady’s shoes.