He is tired <br />of Life. <br /> <br />Comes in after a hard day's work... <br />...lights a long tipped French cigarette. <br /> <br />Takes a long slow drag. <br />Takes a quick sip <br />of an Australian Chardonnay. <br /> <br />Switches on(by remote) <br />the Abba DVD <br /> <br />sings along to; KNOWING ME...KNOWING YOU. <br /> <br />He likes to do <br />the 'Ahhhh...ha! ' bits. <br /> <br />The two guys look like <br />trolls...it's the girls <br /> <br />he admires. <br /> <br />Fancies Agnetha first then <br />fancies he fancies Anfrid too. <br /> <br />Surfs the net. <br />Deletes the junk mail. <br /> <br />Would like to kill 'em all. <br /> <br />He sharpens his scythe <br />wishes someone <br />would updat the symbolic tools. <br /> <br />He feels such <br />a fool <br /> <br />carting it about <br />& black <br /> <br />...was never his colour. <br /> <br />'Come to bed, love! ' <br />calls out Mrs. Death <br /> <br />(eager to jump on his bones) <br /> <br />Death hangs <br />his scythe up. <br /> <br />Grins that deathless grin <br /> <br />that makes her <br />shiver all over. <br /> <br />Death smiles: <br /> <br />'Coming love...coming! '<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sometimes-the-job-gets-to-ya-for-lyn/
