It comes appropriately
Timing; immortals drift skyward
Fizzle above the fortuned fray
Spray fine antiseptic mist
On their unsuspecting wares
Scanners gulp outrageously
Taking whole rows of us with them
But at tiled feet we sit staring
Mannequined into bruised ways
Hanging by a hope or a prayer
See-through skeletons, lullabies to die by
Hush, we’ll find you that final peace
Starched linen pudding cup bravery scent
Nose perfectly proportioned
Hiding a finely deviated septum
Larger than blunder
Smaller than sundried tomato
Expands as necessary
Skin sand and ochred offerings
uv rays sunkissing plaster faces
Unable to inflict further damage
Anticipation of afterlife,
Like new car smell.
Footnotes
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Previously published at www.cmaj.ca