David Hines (hradzka) wrote,
David Hines
hradzka

APED: "erica quimby maria mcrae"

Erica Quimby Maria McRae is thinking of killing herself today.
She thinks the matter through, quite carefully,
and decides to put strychnine into her tea.
But the chemist is out, and so is the shop,
and every place where she happens to stop.
She thinks they know. They say with a smile,
"Sorry! We won't get it in for a while."
So Erica Quimby Maria McRae lives to die another day.

Erica Quimby Maria McRae decides she'll go swimming and drown in the bay.
She'll go down once, twice -- and then be no more.
She eats her last lunch -- what a treat! -- on the shore.
And walks to the waves. The dark water nears.
But as she steps into it gently, she hears
her dead mother's voice, in her head now repeating:
"You can't go in now, not so soon after eating!"
So Erica Quimby Maria McRae lives to die another day.

Erica Quimby Maria McRae is planning her funeral out today.
She'll die on a Thursday; the weekend is free.
Her plot's on the sunniest side of the tree.
But the forecaster says it'll rain for a week.
And though it appears that she's outwardly meek
Deep down inside, she's quietly vain.
She'd never be buried out in the rain.
So Erica Quimby Maria McRae lives to die another day.

Erica Quimby Maria McRae died in old age in her house today.
Not how you think. But not naturally.
She was run down by a streetcar, you see.
That was last Tuesday. She lingered in pain.
(Which she was used to; it wasn't a strain.)
An accident! Odd! If she'd known she'd have scoffed.
But somehow each plan she had never came off.
One thing or another just got in the way -- like Erica Quimby Maria McRae.
Tags: a poem every day
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