I was waiting for the undertaker to say, "you bleed on it, you buy it."
but before he could get a breath in,
or even notice my discomfort,
my wife yelled, "We'll take it!"
And she was in perfect health.
The thing is,
we were really only window shopping.
We were eating ice cream cones in the show room,
we were on a Sunday night stroll.
I asked him kindly
where they kept the first aide kit,
in the mortuary.
He shook his head in irony.
I shrugged my shoulders losing blood.
my wife hopped into her coffin,
she laid on her side
and let the ice cream spill and dry
in the rich white velour.
And on our walk home
she told me when she got out
her new coffin smelled of vanilla,
and waffle cone,
she told me she had made it hers.
She told me,
that I may have to bleed in it a little more.
To make it feel more like home.
Poem I wrote and read at an open mic last week.