Maybe I’ll die while listening to “Jive
Talkin’” by The Bee Gees, my disco feet
tripping me so that I fall down the stairs
and break my neck. Maybe the Dave Clark Five
comes on while I’m driving fast when a sheet
of rain blinds me. I crash and bleeding tears
in my skull make me “pass away.” The end
may come without song, just around the bend.
Or I may briefly run from the burning
house, death disappointed that I escaped.
The heart attack falls asleep on my bed.
Death zigzags, stays on the prowl, keeps turning
into something else, always changing shape
until it must find me--and I am dead.
DULCET TONES READS A NEW ASTRONOMY BOOK
The sun will
melt our history.
My days, fizz
of a just-poured
7-Up, my feelings
will play ball,
the only winner.