They are burying them
in body bags—packed all
in neat rows—and covering
them with earth, so that
they are out of sight, but
not out of mind, in death’s
cradle of endless time.
They are not bringing them
home for homeless they
now be—stateless aliens
encamped beneath the
dank earth, victims all of
an invisible swift savagery,
that sees nothing beyond biology.
They are entombed in plastic
that shall remain when all else
is gone—a symbol of humanity—
as planet earth takes back its own,
and steals the memories of what
had been, and dissolves it all
with the rotting worm of time.
They are sorting them—
numbered, tagged, itemised—
loading them in trucks,
burying them in fields
like the wars to end all wars;
placing them in neat rows
like in Flanders Fields—
but there are no guns
or shells, just the thud
of flesh extinguished
on silent waiting earth.
There be no memorials,
no national mourning days.
Who shall remember them?
How soon shalt we forget?
In memory of all those buried in mass graves from COVID-19
12/7/2020