Sunday, February 22, 2009

28 Poems - 22

Six Feet Under

I went to see a doctor
With a dull ache in my head.
“I’ve got the perfect remedy
For what you have,” he said.
“It’ll take away the tingle
Ten times quicker than a med.”
And then he went and wrote me
A prescription
For a coffin.

I sat down with a Bishop
‘Cause I wanted to confess.
“Forgive me for my sins,” I said,
“My life is such a mess.
How can I stop temptation
And its bittersweet caress?”
And the Bishop sadly blessed me
And he pointed
To a coffin.

I went up to my bartender
And said, “I’m in a funk.
I’m so divorced from everything,
I feel like I’m a monk.
So if I can’t feel anything
I might as well get drunk.”
And he poured ten shots of Jameson’s
And told me
“Here’s your coffin.”

My government just called and said,
“Here’s how we play the game --
If you enlist we ship you where
A bullet has your name.
If not you get to work until
We shoot you when you’re lame.
And either way you’ll end up
With a flag
On your coffin.”

copyright 2009 Matthew J Wells

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