Blackout in the Graveyard

Her weeping son begged
"please don't, please don't drink."

She passed away
walking dead to the graveyard for peace and
flowers and fragranced sips,
the final commendation - rosehips

and a deepening sleep until
the warden
locked the gates.

Buried alive mindst the tombstones
crawling by cold concrete cross;
prematurely embalmed in gin,
her wake
unattended.