I’ve still got mud on my shoes From the funeral. It’s as if I had been infected By the cemetery mud, by the service, By the slick glow of the coffin. The mud followed me home and now Will not leave. It has slid from the bottom of my shoes Up around my ankles and my legs, Gradually covering my thighs and waist. Within a day it had covered my neck with that Slick glow and after two days my hair was Glossy from its sheen. Before the service I was pure, A pristine being. Now I’m a marked man.