Death, the Cuckolder
She visited a local store and
brought home s son of Mr. Smith and Mr. Hessen.
She fired a round into her mouth, but,
failed, failed, not dead but not alive either.
(The Doctors said "we can save her".)
On the life support she went; none would let her go.
"They" cut the pain killers since "they" knew,
knew, her brain was dead and why waste drugs"
(The doctors said "The poor dear,
we gave her our best and this is our thanks?")
Inside the shell of her body, the dark empty void,
she screamed to get out and no one hears.
But no one else exists, nothing else is real.
Pain is her only companion and finally now her groom.
They lived together in wedded bliss" till death,
death, the ultimate cuckolder, came and eloped with her.
I wrote this poem around 1984 or 1985 while I was in Bob Bauch's Creative Writing Class in Northern Virginia.
It was panned somewhat.
This is a poem I could not write today and I wonder about my frame of mind when I wrote this. I'd like to think I am more sane now. Certainly, my head is in a far better place. (I think...)
Labels: Bob Bauch Writing Class, Cuckholder, Death, Death the Cuckolder