Did my widow flit about <br />From Mackinac to Los Angeles, <br />Resting and bathing and sitting an hour <br />Or more at the table over soup and meats <br />And delicate sweets and coffee? <br />I was cut down in my prime <br />From overwork and anxiety. <br />But I thought all along, whatever happens <br />I've kept my insurance up, <br />And there's something in the bank, <br />And a section of land in Manitoba. <br />But just as I slipped I had a vision <br />In a last delirium: <br />I saw myself lying nailed in a box <br />With a white lawn tie and a boutonnière, <br />And my wife was sitting by a window <br />Some place afar overlooking the sea; <br />She seemed so rested, ruddy and fat, <br />Although her hair was white. <br />And she smiled and said to a colored waiter: <br />"Another slice of roast beef, George. <br />Here's a nickel for your trouble."<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/batterson-dobyns/
