(copyright Roy P. Livingston, 4/15/2020)
Dead
men tell no tales and pass no virus,
And so I hide among the
tombstones
From living humans who would infect me.
Six
feet down and dead is safer
Than six feet sideways and alive!
The
caretaker laughs at me as I sprint by
For my daily exercise,
because I pause
And pretend to honor some deceased stranger.
The dead need not dissemble so.
They are just planted
seeds that failed to grow.
But
cherry trees do blossom here
In a riot of bright pink against
the light blue sky,
And two gorgeous women run towards me now,
Spritely spirits of the departed,
Defying some personal
pandemic that struck each down.
They
wink and run with me and invite me
To picnic with them beneath
those cherry trees!
Oh, infect me with your youth and
loveliness, I think!
But they would really take me six feet
down and dead,
Not nearly so much fun. Yo, ho, ho and a bottle
of rum.
Those cherry trees seem so innocent and enticing.
What a fun poem! You start off with death and six feet under, then take a turn with these lovely images:
“But cherry trees do blossom here
In a riot of bright pink against the light blue sky,” The tone and imagery brightens so very much here.
…and then the gorgeous women of course. Great last stanza, and this line: “Oh, infect me with your youth and loveliness, I think!”
A light-ish poem on a very heavy topic. Nice work.