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.

From Charon's Cosmology, by Charles Simic. Published by George Braziller. Copyright © 1977. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

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Poems by This Author

Country Fair by Charles Simic If you didn't see the six-legged dog, In the Library by Charles Simic There's a book called Late September by Charles Simic The mail truck goes down the coast My Shoes by Charles Simic Shoes, secret face of my inner life On this Very Street in Belgrade by Charles Simic Pigeons at Dawn by Charles Simic Extraordinary efforts are being made Read Your Fate by Charles Simic A world's disappearing. Riddle by Charles Simic Secret History by Charles Simic Of the light in my room The Initiate by Charles Simic St. John of the Cross wore dark glasses The Something by Charles Simic Here come my night thoughts The White Room by Charles Simic The obvious is difficult This Morning by Charles Simic Enter without knocking, hard-working ant. Watermelons by Charles Simic Green Buddhas

Further Reading

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