Last Question

I watched from a safe place

the new herse pulling against its finality
as the faces all fixed
their desperate reflection
firm under its metallic arm.

Inside myself I ask him
‘So what’s it like old man
is it anything to write home about?’

The herse setting roll to that waiting end
at its own sad speed
thick fumes touching the God
in our shallow wounds

my question gone
to find its answer.