The Sign

After the mass
I follow the pall bearers
Down the steps
Of the Church
To the hearse
Waiting at the curb
To take us
To the cemetery

The men sway in unison
None of them friends
Of the family
Simply Anonymous men
Who come when called
To perform the service
Of carrying a casket
From the church to the hearse

Their last task done
The funeral director
Pays them
And they disperse

As we pull away
From the curb
I notice a small sign
In the window
Of a shop
Across the street
It says simply:
“Souls Repaired”

A white haired man
(the shoemaker)
Stares back at me
Then turns away
And resumes his work

For a brief moment
The reflection in the window
The church – the hearse -
Becomes a parallel universe
(But in reverse)

And then abruptly
It’s erased
From the glass
By our quick acceleration
Into the traffic

I’m certain
I am the only one
Who saw that sign
In the window
The only one
Struck by its irony

Had I been the priest
That day
I would have skipped
The mass –the eulogy
And said simply –

“This is my sermon:
Look for the signs
And you will find them -
They are everywhere -
They are the work of simple men
Fishermen – carpenters –
Give them your attention -
They will lead you
To where you need to go.”