<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Dying at Midnight<\/strong><\/p>\n Two big attendants My wife’s in the kitchen Right now I’m wondering <\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\nin white coats are here
\nto remove my remains.
\nMy son called the mortuary
\nafter Murphy said I was gone.
\nThe doctor, a good neighbor,
\ncame over at midnight, found
\nno pulse and made it official.
\nI could have saved him the trip.
\nI knew I was gone.<\/p>\n
\ncrying with my daughter
\nin a festival of Kleenex.
\nI told her I was sick
\nbut she didn’t believe me.
\nShe thought I was faking it
\nso I wouldn’t have to go
\nto her mother’s for dinner.
\nI don’t like lamb but
\nher mother’s from Greece.
\nLamb shanks are always
\npiled on the table.
\nStuffed grape leaves I like
\nand she’ll make them for
\nChristmas provided I start
\nbegging at Thanksgiving.
\nEvery Easter, however,
\nit’s another fat leg of lamb,
\nmarbled with varicosities
\nand sauced with phlebitis.<\/p>\n
\nwho’ll win the argument
\nbetween the two angels
\nfacing off in the mirror
\non top of the dresser.
\nThe winner gets my soul
\nwhich is near the ceiling,
\na flying saucer spinning
\nout of control.
\nI want the angel
\nin the white tunic
\nto take it in his backpack.
\nThe other guy in gray
\nlooks like Peter Lorre
\nexcept for the horns.<\/p>\n