How much death works, <br />No one knows what a long <br />Day he puts in. The little <br />Wife always alone <br />Ironing death's laundry. <br />The beautiful daughters <br />Setting death's supper table. <br />The neighbors playing <br />Pinochle in the backyard <br />Or just sitting on the steps <br />Drinking beer. Death, <br />Meanwhile, in a strange <br />Part of town looking for <br />Someone with a bad cough, <br />But the address somehow wrong, <br />Even death can't figure it out <br />Among all the locked doors... <br />And the rain beginning to fall. <br />Long windy night ahead. <br />Death with not even a newspaper <br />To cover his head, not even <br />A dime to call the one pining away, <br />Undressing slowly, sleepily, <br />And stretching naked <br />On death's side of the bed.<br /><br />Charles Simic<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/eyes-fastened-with-pins/
