Don't the dead have boring days,
Dull plans; they're in a haze,
Halitosis, their eyes are glazed.
Instead of moving, they just laze.
The dead don't make excuses
For what's not done; there are no ruses.
The dead only have old bruises.
They're not taking any cruises.
The dead don't have love affairs,
And they never put on airs.
If they were smart, now it's not there.
The thing that they do best is stare.
The dead think they are so urbane;
They are, if you ignore the stains;
They never wax, they only wane:
Sometimes I think they're all insane.
Being dead's a formal thing;
People come and someone sings,
All the phones and doorbells ring-
But no one knows just what it means?
Patti Masterman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/don-t-the-dead-have-boring-days/