Maybe it's a little too close to tax day, but today's prompt is to write a death poem. You can write about a specific death or consider death as an idea. In the tradition of Emily Dickinson (and other poets), you could even address Death as an entity. Or you can surprise us with a different spin on the subject.
Fifth Avenue
Who could ever understand the vacuum cleaner hanging
from the elevator?
The naked figure, tiny, is it young
or old? - bent over, looking
- observed by the surveillance camera
- digging
kind-of
for something essential
lost
The door untried taken for locked.
The boiler room taken for the Lower East Side.
Film makers in the alley
steal shots through the grates.
A maze navigated back to a different feeding
Door opens, stays open
Raw egg in the drawer
and on the lacy, satin, sexy clothes.
Grey skin on grey linoleum.
Eyes, dilated, for the underworld.
This one more day alive.
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