Richard Cory (His Untold Story)
Turns out Richard Cory had pancreatic cancer;
Was told he had, at best, six months to live.
After the initial shock, he called his lawyer
To help draw up the will in which he’d give
The wealth so many envied mostly to charity;
His custom-tailored suits to Salvation Army.
Probate only noticed one peculiarity:
That provision for his cat! Was Cory barmy?
No one but his doctor knew what was going on.
There was no one on the pavement he could tell.
His friends were fair-weather; parents long gone;
Glib how are yous were answered with I’m well.
The pain finally got so bad he couldn’t walk
Downtown; couldn’t even climb out of bed.
You can guess the rest. To hell with idle talk
As to why Dick put that bullet through his head.
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Comments about this poem (Richard Cory (His Untold Story) by David Alpaugh )
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