The Greatest Show Unearthed

  by Caroline Johnson

They emerged from the cemetery—
a long line of vintage hearses.
More than twenty cars—each of a different hue.  
Chevys, Impalas, Bonnevilles,
all of them restored, not new.

Station wagons, limousines, Chryslers,
the shiniest one was a Cadillac.
It was a hand-carved box hearse,
dripping in blood, and ghostly black.

The people who drove them,
wore Goth, fishnet stockings, and masks,
skull and crossbone jewelry,
sporting car accessories to match.

Peering out from the parade of funeral cars,
a giant ghoul waved at me
while sitting atop a convertible hearse.
Suddenly I felt the chemistry.

The license plates read:
“Funeral”
“Vampyre”
“Zom B 8”
“Lst Ryde”

Ghouls and ghoulish, young and foolish,
they spooked the living--but no one cried.
Strangely I wanted to join the party as they
blazed through graveyards in a 3-day ride.