For an umpteenth time, I fix my tie <br />glance at the clock and sigh <br />The memorial service starts at eight <br />And as always, we'll be late <br />I yell 'Hon, what are you waiting for? ' <br />and from her side of the bathroom door: <br />'Tell them I've got mourning sickness' <br />(I laugh at such a witty quickness) <br />she opens the door, perplexed somehow <br />then gives me a smiling hug <br />says 'therein lies the rub - <br />it's doubly funny now'<br /><br />Chuck Audette<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mourning-sickness-2/
