These could be wealthy, but not the wealthiest,
Quoth the archaeologist, interviewed about a tomb.
Don’t you ever want to chuckle at the fact
That death is the greatest preserver of our lives?
We sold them dear and bought them back lightly,
To sell again as bones and treasured artifacts.
Of course, not all lives ever were thus preserved.
Many, most of our ancestors, missed the mounds
And middens to vanish in the perfect sin of life
And geology’s absolute recycling. But those
Bones, those gold leaves of metempsychosis,
Those sacrificed horses, they remained so to speak
Of relative wealth and status, of the longing
To transcend, to carry accomplishment onward.
We, who domesticated wolves and ourselves,
Have been dogs, proud of the trophies we’ve buried
To claim and offer as prizes later. Immortality
On offer, immortality, Dear, cheap immortality.
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