Poem 42: That empty chair

(The poetic form selected for this month is the English or Shakespearean Sonnet).

That empty chair I see across the table
Reminds me; I must phone my headstone mate
And ask him if in any way I’m able
To cut on costs without been thought a cheapskate.

Quite frankly, funeral costs went through the roof.
The walnut chest you wanted I ignored.
Instead I thought of something on the hoof
And nailed a box up out of some old boards.

I didn’t think too many would attend
A funeral service in a pricey hall;
The obit. read: No flowers, we don’t intend
To celebrate her life and death at all.

At least the whole affair has one bright spot:
I’ll sell your chair and hope I get a lot.

19 thoughts on “Poem 42: That empty chair

  1. umashankar

    There are many ways to get rid of a human form once the soul has departed. Some of those options don’t leave a damn trace of people who wandered the earth and occupied chairs hither and thither, and they are cheap.

    The execution of the form is flawless, the mocking tone does have a Shakespearean streak, although I am sure Henry Howard is turning in his grave somewhere, but the volta of the sonnet has that unmistakable Bruce Goodman stamp. Come to think of it, the format and you are natural partners!

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

Gentle thoughts and expressions of astoundedness are both gratefully accepted.

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