He is tired
of Life.
Comes in after a hard day's work...
...lights a long tipped French cigarette.
Takes a long slow drag.
Takes a quick sip
of an Australian Chardonnay.
Switches on(by remote)
the Abba DVD
sings along to; KNOWING ME...KNOWING YOU.
He likes to do
the 'Ahhhh...ha! ' bits.
The two guys look like
trolls...it's the girls
he admires.
Fancies Agnetha first then
fancies he fancies Anfrid too.
Surfs the net.
Deletes the junk mail.
Would like to kill 'em all.
He sharpens his scythe
wishes someone
would updat the symbolic tools.
He feels such
a fool
carting it about
& black
...was never his colour.
'Come to bed, love! '
calls out Mrs. Death
(eager to jump on his bones)
Death hangs
his scythe up.
Grins that deathless grin
that makes her
shiver all over.
Death smiles:
'Coming love...coming! '
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sometimes-the-job-gets-to-ya-for-lyn/
