Eight Twenty Ninety Two
The day my mother passed from view.
Three days later at her grave,
Laid to rest, her body saved
Into a casket iron-wrought
With $5000 dollars which we had naught.

But AMEX paid the tab.

We had some nearer family there,
Three which didn't pay plane fare.
My father out of work for months,
Though for three years did he hunt,
Only giving up when Mom had passed,
And soon began the aftermath.

But AMEX paid the tab.

Not a penny was returned
From our family we'd interned.
For a week in our own home.
Paid their plane fare, food fare, without a loan.
And not a penny spent was spent unwise,
But mind you we were penalized.

But AMEX paid the tab.

Some years later at Mom's head,
Dad laid wooden markings on her bed
In the grass above her grave;
And with it four railroad spikes he gave,
A tombstone made of wood engraved
Which he himself had four days made.

And Amex paid not the tab.

For many years I was enraged!
My mother had not proper placed.
Without a piece of rock engraved,
How could we rest so disengaged?
But settled for this wooden plaque
My father would not take it back.

Because AMEX paid not the tab.

It occurred to me more recently
That in my rage, improperly
Misjudged the meaning of this plaque,
And thought it best I take it back.
After all it's just a rock
I would've had as the stock,

But AMEX paid not the tab

What better tribute to their love,
With hand carved wooden plaque above,
Which my father created from his hands,
Like every other thing they had.
And selfish I really must have been,
To make such an errant sin,

Because AMEX paid not the tab.

In recent years we could replace
That plaque and what is on it's face,
But recall I did what father said,
"Care for the living, not the dead."
And perhaps in this I did forgive
Myself for wanton more than give.

Because AMEX paid not the tab.