Every second that ticks
is another nail in my coffin.
Keep on hammering.
I am not a frog.
I do not live in a pond.
I cannot croak.
I’ll never go to Israel.
Then I can’t cross
that Jordan River.
I will wear tennis shoes
or sandals or dress shoes.
I will never die with my boots on.
Poker is a game.
I’ll never cash in my chips:
I’ll hoard them all!
See that cowboy with the lasso?
If he gives me enough rope,
I won’t hang around.
I might be a radish or a flower.
When it’s time to go,
I’ll never be dead meat.
I have no unlucky number.
I can’t count the hairs on my head.
My number will never come up.
I won’t bite the dust,
May I always eat poppies
in Flanders Fields.
Flowers make me sneeze.
If I push up daisies,
there might be an earthquake.
I will not sidle up to the Reaper.
There will be no chance
I will brush up against him.
I will never go in that door.
I will ring the doorbell,
never knock.
I have kissed many.
My lips are sealed now.
No kiss of death for me.
I will specify my grave.
Please dig it five feet deep.
Never dig to six.
All my services will be free.
Give me no wages
for my many sins.
But watch out for the bore and the badger.
I guess, in the long run,
they may get me in the end.
Originally published in Rat's Ass Review