An old poem from 1984, that I have a sweetness toward. Partly because it is a bit dark and yet has a very rhymey cast to it, giving it a bit odd "tongue in cheek" feeling. I think I developed this early in my life from my father singing such favorites as " Poisonings Pidgeon's In the Park" by Tom Leher Wrote it following a stay at a condo for a vacation that felt like everybody living there was so enveloped in aloneness despite the supposed "contrived" community. I have also gone on to see articles in papers where this very thing has happened and some people not being discovered for years following their death. How sad to be that alone!
Something is
Rotting in Chalet # 5
Somebody is rotting in Chalet # 5;
She’s been there since Monday at quarter past nine.
And now when it is Sunday and six days away –
She loses her eyelids as the world goes to pray.
The postman won’t notice
That the mail goes unread
And the newsboy doesn’t know that the occupant is dead.
Old Mr Kramer.
Thought he seemed something “fishy”;
While walking his dog
Or so he told Biker Ritchie;
Who coasts by her windows, early work day mornings?
And he replied, “haven’t seen anything “alarming”
Except that she used to sing everyday
And she stopped recently….but that wasn’t strange
He thought singing “odd” anyway,
The day that poor Susie’s
meat pulled away from her bones
A lover cursed “Bitch, she won’t answer her phone!”
It’s a good thing the central air keeps down the bugs
But it looks like this spells the end for the rugs.
And the whole world goes on as it hasn’t a care
That the next thing she’ll lose are nails and her hair.
On June 23rd
The rent will come due
And somebody will come banging at a quarter to 2
He will get real impatient cause her car is in the yard
And they hate collecting money when the tenants make it
hard.
He’ll reach for the keys on his black leather belt
He’ll wonder if it’s garbage in the air he just smelt.
Then he’ll gasp as he shoves the door roughly inside
Cause poor Susie Matfield will have no place to hide.
She’ll greet him warmly with a fleshless grin
And pay him with maggots as he stumbles in.
