The Seated Buddha

[busker]

Otosan was a mean sod
beat me with a hanbo.
I poke his ghost-white ashes
as if clearing a hearth.
I pick up the femur.
The priest holds the urn out
like a bank robber
collecting the loot --
I fill it with ribs.
The priest rests the urn
and with a hankachi
wipes his face. I slip
the Buddha bone
into my pocket --
Otosan will not have
a peaceful passage.
The jawbone, the last
of him, I hold up
to my face. Pivot it.
I borrow his voice
make him say sorry.

I’m just not invested enough in the characters to find this interesting. There are some details of a Japanese cremation that require a quick search, but there’s nothing in the poem other than some random bit of orientalism. 

I slip
the Buddha bone 
into my pocket 


—- why are there 3 lines for this?

The ending doesn’t deliver a change in tone, a surprise, a payoff to reward the reader for plodding through the dull, lifeless body. Maybe that’s the meta poem.