|
|
 |
|
|
User Rating: |
|
7.8
/10
(23
votes)
|
|
|
|
|
|
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.
Charles Simic
|
|
Read poems about / on: death, beautiful, rain, alone, night, daughter, work
|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
Comments about this poem (Eyes Fastened With Pins
by
Charles Simic
) |
|
Click here to write your
comments about this poem (Eyes Fastened With Pins by
Charles Simic
)
 |
Jimmy Hanson
(7/5/2007 11:21:00 AM) |
just simple poetic.
every line brings forth a different emotion
this is one of the finest works of art i have ever come across.
|
|
|
|
Marina Gipps
(3/17/2007 7:17:00 PM) |
The wife always alone ironing death's laundry is an amazing line...I love this poem.
Every line is amazing.
|
|
Read all
2
comments >>
|
|
|
 |
 |
 |
|
|
 |
|
People who read
Charles Simic
|
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
