badronald

Duplexes of the Dead
Fiery Furnaces

I went on down into the duplexes of the dead,
Where the shades are drawn and the shadow's shut--
Unless you know the magic word.
(Seldom said but often heard,
Bite your lip!) Then spin around three times:

On our honeymoon. My husband sat still
With a look in his eyes and a pen in his left hand.
He wrote on the varnish the magic word.
(Seldom seen and never heard.)
He shushed me then slumped backwards dead asleep.

I went grumpy sitting in the sun by the umbrella stand,
Making every single unreasonable demand.
I covered my head and went to the office pool,
dipped in reverent a re-soled mule
And asked the chlorine fumes if there was something they wanted to bring up.