Tuesday, May 27, 2008

A Poem About Death

Travelling across the country has given me new insight into death, I suppose. Specifically, driving through Montana, which is where I composed the below. Did you know that there are places where people pay for fast food with checks? I guess check cards haven't made it to South Dakota or Montana yet. In my (roughly) 25 years (give or take) I don't remember ever having seen that, then I saw it twice in one day, in two different states.

Anyway, my new poem is arguably the greatest piece of doggerel I mean poem ever composed on the terrible yet fascinating subject of death. It provides important insights.

"Don't Work No More"
A Poem By Ricky Sprague

Danny's eyes just stare;
Nothing's there!
They're shrivelled and cold;
Gone to mold.
His eyes don't work no more.

Jimmy don't make water
Like he oughter.
It's bloated and distended
Since he ended.
His penis don't work no more.

Andy just can't inhale;
He's gone stale.
He'll never catch his breath.
Such is death.
His lungs don't work no more.

Larry's brain is sinking-
Not thinking.
Synapses no longer fire.
It's quite dire.
His brain don't work no more.

Tommy's legs stopped runnin';
He's been done in.
"One foot in front of the other"?
Not anymore, brother!
His legs don't work no more.

Bobby's heart don't pump.
It's just a lump.
His blood's gone congealed,
No way to be healed.
His heart don't work no more.

No matter who, you will go.
Sad to know.
Those who once wished you the best
Will lose all interest
When your body don't work no more.

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