How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death’s laundry.
The beautiful daughters
Setting death’s supper table.
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
Drinking beer. Death,
Meanwhile, in a strange
Part of town looking for
Someone with a bad cough,
But the address somehow wrong,
Even death can’t figure it out
Among all the locked doors…
And the rain beginning to fall.
Long windy night ahead.
Death with not even a newspaper
To cover his head, not even
A dime to call the one pining away,
Undressing slowly, sleepily,
And stretching naked
On death’s side of the bed.
(Charles Simic)
More Poetry from Charles Simic:
Charles Simic Poems based on Topics: Death & Dying, Beauty, Work & Career- The Supreme Moment (Charles Simic Poems)
- Coal (Charles Simic Poems)
- Clouds Gathering (Charles Simic Poems)
- To The One Upstairs (Charles Simic Poems)
- Hotel Insomnia (Charles Simic Poems)
- How To Psalmodize (Charles Simic Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Death & Dying Poems, Beauty Poems, Work & Career PoemsBased on Keywords: sleepily, dime, undressing, ironing