The Corpse's Villanelle
Sooner or later you'll end like me, alas.
Bare on a slab, uncovered toe to tit.
When it comes to death, nobody gets a pass--
hands will deface each hillock and crevasse
and slice your soldered seams until they split.
Sooner or later you end like me, alas,
before you're a shadow sinking under grass
or ash flung seaward from a parapet.
When it comes to death, nobody gets a pass,
though some try escaping behind an alias
and some think death's a dupe they can outwit.
They all end up here just like me, alas.
Asleep in the gutter or flying high first class:
one living breath's the sole prerequisite
when it comes to death. Nobody gets a pass.
What am I now? Your future's looking glass.
Our bed is narrow, but you'll shrink to fit
sooner or later. You'll end like this. Alas,
when it comes to death, nobody gets a pass.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Melissa Cannon would be
pleased to hear them.