The Burial

“Nothing stays buried for long”, he said

“Nature abhors secrets.”

The old man made his intentions clear

Accountability would not be borne

On his crooked, arthritic back

On those slouched, uneven shoulders.

I gave a nod, and with a murderer’s rage

I bit the spade tip through the dense peat

And planted the seed, staining the soil

With avarice and malice

The tell-tale stench, reeking, sneaking

From the roll of plastic, the parcel in question.