The Fall


Though he dabbled in figures of speech,

His fall was hardly metaphorical; more the garden variety

Really, a plummet from a high ladder while trimming trees,

The side of his skull crushed by the water meter.

For three days he held on, then they pulled the plug,

Burying him in the ground, a medium he loved to potter in.

At the funeral speeches a few days’ later, all his faults

Forgotten, he came up smelling roses.




4 thoughts on “The Fall

  1. I like this poem, John, By the way, with regard to an earlier blog, I saw the other day that there are over 3,000 words for drunkenness in the English language alone.


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