They call at two
They call at three
Makes no real difference to me.
The dead . . .
They care not what time I am forced to rise
They care for nothing
Where are my scrub pants
Dirty from the last prep
Come, the dead urge me
I answer, after finding new pants
Soon you will be
Lovely as can be
And all because of me.
Just another day with death.
Death Notice: Sam
From obituary to sanctuary, his actuary, by the statuary, eyes Sam’s subsidiary.
No donation for cremation. Unnecessary. A casket, customary.
Director directing. Mourners mourning this gray morning.
Smelling of a lily, his widow Lily, a lively filly, secretly did killy our friend Sam.
Family teeth gnash, as she gets his cash.
Lily, beneficiary – ruled the judiciary. She’s no monetary revolutionary.
Tears fall. Tears of joy. No one knows. All know.
Her itinerary, the voluptuary, once his secretary, is nothing ordinary.
Bury Sam. Finish the scam.
Rudimentary commentary with Sam’s brother. She’s a budgetary visionary.