Playing Dead Poem by Andrew Hudgins

Playing Dead

Rating: 3.6

Our father liked to play a game.
He played that he was dead.
He took his thick black glasses off
and stretched out on the bed.

He wouldn't twitch and didn't snore
or move in any way.
He didn't even seem to breathe!
We asked, Are you okay?

We tickled fingers up and down
his huge, pink, stinky feet—
He didn't move; he lay as still
as last year's parakeet.

We pushed our fingers up his nose,
and wiggled them inside—
Next, we peeled his eyelids back.
Are you okay? we cried.

I really thought he might be dead
and not just playing possum,
because his eyeballs didn't twitch
when I slid my tongue across 'em.

He's dead, we sobbed—but to be sure,
I jabbed him in the jewels.
He rose, like Jesus, from the dead,
though I don't think Jesus drools.

His right hand lashed both right and left.
His left hand clutched his scrotum.
And the words he yelled—I know damn well
I'm way too young to quote 'em.

Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: father
Susan Williams 12 January 2016

His topics go from this ludicrous verse to the power and glory of Steppingstone? Color me puzzled by this poem's presence here.

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M Asim Nehal 02 February 2016

Many lessons to learn from this game o death.

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Adrian Flett 09 December 2018

A poem filled with fun, rhyme and rhythm.

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Mahtab Bangalee 09 December 2018

Death Oh! No dead But alive in the stagnant human conscience.../// great

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Ratnakar Mandlik 12 January 2016

Good entertainment reading the poem. Thanks for sharing,10 points.

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Bernard F. Asuncion 09 December 2018

Such a pretty poem by Andrew Hudgins.....

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Edward Kofi Louis 09 December 2018

Father and children! Thanks for sharing.

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Anil Kumar Panda 09 December 2018

Beautiful poem indeed. Packed with fun and suspense. Loved it.

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Glen Kappy 09 December 2018

I smiled and laughed aloud at this one—which is what a humorous poem should do. Good one! -Glen

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Kumarmani Mahakul 09 December 2018

A nice inscription has been made on Playing Dead. Beautiful poem really.

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