Eyes Fastened With Pins in  General   

How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death's laundry.
The beautiful daughters
Setting death's supper table.
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
Drinking beer. Death,
Meanwhile, in a strange
Part of town looking for
Someone with a bad cough,
But the address somehow wrong,
Even death can't figure it out
Among all the locked doors...
And the rain beginning to fall.
Long windy night ahead.
Death with not even a newspaper
To cover his head, not even
A dime to call the one pining away,
Undressing slowly, sleepily,
And stretching naked
On death's side of the bed.

By Charles Simic

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Other poems by Charles Simic:

• A Book Full of Pictures
• Against Winter
• Clouds Gathering
• Coal
• Errata
• Eyes Fastened With Pins
• Heights Of Folly
• Hotel Insomnia
• Inner Man
• Paradise Motel
• Pocket Theatre
• Poem Without A Title
• Private Eye
• Read Your Fate
• Summer In The Country
• Talking To Little Birdies
• The Bather
• The Initiate
• The Oldest Child
• The Partial Explanation
• The School Of Metaphysics
• The Supreme Moment
• The White Room
• This Morning
• To The One Upstairs
• Watermelons
• Wherein Obscurely