Death, the Theory
The imp of the perverse was a deceiving elf.
The headaches came more often
with other blows the pills couldn't soften.
I was a fat girl once myself.
When I got out of the shower,
the money was missing from my wallet.
I bent down and picked up a spent bullet
with no memory of the previous hour.
The checks and balances were in the mail,
as was a message from my muse.
We bought on the rumor, sold on the news,
and did our time in jail.
Yes, I was the revolutionist
who learns the old order was better.
The weather kept getting wetter.
You could make out two figures in the mist.
3 / 12 / 05
[published in Yeshiva Boys by David Lehman. Scribner, 2009]
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