The Police Impounded My Hearse

Comical postmortem poem.

 

The lot was marked

Used Trees.

The iron fence without

a gate seemed harmless.

 

The rusted sign

tormented me.

.

Used Trees?

This was a paper mill,

without the stench

of rotten eggs

that just went through

the spin cycle.

 

I guess they are using palm trees

to make paper these days.

 

I can’t believe my final

resting place is marked

by a sign that makes no sense.

 

Beware the ghost

of the Used Trees lot!

Yeah that’s lame.

Reviews

[Moi]

This made me chuckle; especially the ending stanza. The penultimate stanza was a winner too.

Thank you.

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

Well written, I like the way you wrote about Palm trees for paper now a days , good symbolism, thank you for sharing. Debileah