dig your own grave and save

title stolen from a simpsons show.

with my trusty pipe

clenched between my teeth

i puff out smoke as grey and ghostly

as the beard i havn't trimmed

since the wife was alive.

armed with only a shovel

and a jaunty tune,

i do battle against

six feet of cold earth.

 

down, down into the depths.

deep into the kingdom

of worms.

may they feast their eyes

upon this physical specimen

before they fill their bellies

on my flesh and blood.

down so deep,

that satan may have

both my soul and body.

 

a hole is a fine place to hide.

little birdies sing their songs

and eat the worms

which threaten the secret

held within a wooden box

sunk into the gold forgetful soil.

for all their trouble,

when the worms finally struggle into

my coffin and home,

they will find only

an empty shell.