Welcome back to Poetry Monday. This weekend, we attended a friend’s wedding in Northern California, and drove through the Central Valley, where the brown grass and starved orchards formed stark reminders of our current drought and changing climate hazards. I’m also currently reading Ann Lamott’s book, “Dust Night Dawn”, which I would recommend to anyone. The following poem seems appropriate to my current thoughts. Be well.
After Edward Lear
You might be bit by a rattler hid in your boot
or choke while drinking green tea;
could be killed by the kick of a madwoman’s foot
or be drowned in the syllabub sea.
You could murder yourself in New York with a fork
or melt in a crater of lava;
You could die by too frequently popping the cork
of your favorite brand of Marsala.
You could be gored by a virulent bull
Or be bored by a brute of a bee.
Your skull could crack like a china doll’s
when you fall from a three-story tree.
You might be split in two halves by a horse
or you could go more peacefully, of course.