The woman with the curly eyes and the laughing hair is walking
up and down on my grave again. Again and again and again.
But if I'm dead, how do I know this shit?
I was laid to rest in this box. Hey! Wait a minute. Back up!
A coffin that cost ten grand ain't exactly a box. I was buried
face up in a black suit with my arms folded across my chest.
Someone put a bright, shiny coin on each of my eyelids.
Why did they put coins on my eyes? I'm Jewish.
This isn't our tradition. This isn't our way!
At the grave site, the burled oak, silk-lined coffin was
lowered into a retainer, cast in concrete and covered
with a concrete lid, upon which the mourners shoveled dirt.
This $1,500 concrete retainer is supposed to protect the coffin from
"the elements". From what elements - mud, rain water, maggots?
What the fuck difference does it make? I'm dead, for Christ's sake!
A year later, by Jewish custom, a tombstone was dedicated.
Then, past midnight, this woman starts walking on my grave.
I see her straight up from six feet below. Get the picture?
Like daggers, her stiletto heels stab at the burial site.
And farther up her skirt, her pussy. So I stared. I admit it.
What am I supposed to do? Roll over in my own grave?
How can my eyes pierce through two metal coins, ... through a coffin,
through a concrete encasement, through six feet of earth?
I'm not a fucking magician! Shit, man! I'm not even alive!
The woman with the curly eyes and the laughing hair
continues to pace back and forth on my grave.
She has no respect for the dead. No God damn respect for the dead!
