It's Your Murder. You Get To Keep It.
Your murder arrives in an envelope,
Good quality, engraved,
"The Murder of Blankety Blank,"
to occur at sundown.
You get to keep it. The card and
The murder, I mean,
And if the police don't take it away,
Perhaps the bloody
guttered knife that will be used to do
You in. All you
Have to do is to wait, or maybe change
Your clothing, in
Case you want your corpse to, you know,
Say something
About the person you were -- the kind
Who wore pearls
Just around the house, or who wouldn't
Be caught dead,
As it were, in anything marketed as
Chinos. But other
Than that, you're not expected to prepare,
And don't worry.
You won't be late. From the diminishing
Sound of the birds
And the deep slant of the sun as it comes
Over the lawn,
And the conspicuous rattle at the doorknob--
Who could that be?--
It seems you're going to be right on time.
posted by Reen |link| 0 comments
