briefly, dad & i became grave robbers

& replaced each body we stole 
with piles of produce. six watermelons.
eighteen pears. a bucket of apples.
several giant metal bowls of blueberries.
all of these equal a person. skeleton 
frame work scaffolds. my dad with his
snow shovel & me with the good 
metal shovel dipping in the loose dirt.
one after the other. neither of us
were sure what night this started but
i think it was him who put his hand
on my back in the deep night hours 
& asked me if i could get in the car.
when your father asks if you 
can do something 
you always can & you always are grateful
for his moment of need for his recognition
of your body as a body. our bodies
were not the same as the ones we unearthed 
& that is significant. i won't ask you
what it means to be dead--
that too easy-- what does it mean
to be dead with your father?
we took the bodies on honeymoons & 
gave them fast cars. we painted their faces
& told them they were going to have
vibrant furious futures. we lied 
& said they absolutely looked fine.
dad especially liked to tell the younger men
that they should get an education 
like he never did. lots of guidance.
this is what we all want to give.
what do you understand about decay?
i sometimes think about 
the fruit in the earth & the bodies 
going on to live their fragile lives.
the melons melting in the box &
the berries growing white fuzz.
of course we let the bodies go
at the end of the night
took them to the lookout at the edge
of town & told them to walk far far
away form us. they were obedient.
they were cautious
but most became bones before 
our car pulled away. i would have never asked
dad why we had to do this but
i came closest to driving home 
with the dirtied shovels in the trunk
& less fruit than what 
we came with.