Buried Alive Poem by Birgit Bunzel Linder

I went to Sunset Cemetery
today and began to dig my own
grave. I said, "Help me! " and you
kindly obliged. We dug all day and
you wanted it deeper for me than
all the others. "Where it is cooler, "
you said. How could I resist such
consideration? I look forward to it!

When we were done, we threw our
spades out. We looked up at the sky
from twelve feet under, and we had no
way out. Now I know, G.B. Shaw
said, "If you have skeletons in the
closet, might as well make them dance."
But how will we get back into our
closet without help from above?