Funeral A shuffling of feet. A slurp of strong, black, bland tea. A clearing of the throat. A sea of black. A cough. A sneeze. A whimper. A funeral. Dear Old Man whom I never met, your funeral is bleak, and cold. Your visitors awkward and clearly present only because of obligation. Like me. Dear Old Man, I hope you can see this. Surely this isn't what you wanted. A granddaughter weeps tearless, silent, tears of over acted misery. A distant relative trailing the hands of the clock with their eyes. Has enough time passed for it to be deemed alright for them to excuse themselves? Eyes reeking with a lack of sensitivity dart around the room. What am I doing here? Did I even know this man? Black is so not my color. Is his daughter wearing a red bra under that top? Oh how scandalous! Their thoughts, much like their eyes, whizz soundlessly throughout the atmosphere like mosquitoes on LSD. Dear Old Man, wherever you are, I apologize for the insincerity of humanity. I apologize for their lack of understanding. I apologize for not wanting to be here. I apologize for your insignificance.