I had a job
prying gold teeth from corpses
I had a job
digging graves for thousands
I had a job cleaning shit from train cars
then one day they shot me
in the back of the head.
At least I had a job
until I was dead.
Now I'm with the living
don't know how it happened
these jobs vague memories
stuck in my DNA.
I have a job cleaning bathrooms
that aren't even dirty
I deliver flowers to lovers
I must have been promoted.
If death is fleeting
and so is life,
It's the soul that holds all memory
of many lives and deaths: how is it
that I recall voices I've never heard
places I've never been?
Perhaps I'll live again then move on
and I'll have a job. If I'm righteous
some day I'll be The Memory Keeper
and tell an epic story
like the Book Of Judgment
about which the Rabbis sing.
