Eyes Fastened With Pins
Charles Simic
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How much death works
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death's laundry
The beautiful daughters
Setting death's supper table
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
Drinking beer. Death
Meanwhile, in a strange
Part of town looking for
Someone with a bad cough
But the address somehow wrong
Even death can't figure it out
Among all the locked doors...
And the rain beginning to fall
Long windy night ahead
Death with not even a newspaper
To cover his head, not even
A dime to call the one pining away
Undressing slowly, sleepily
And stretching naked
On death's side of the bed
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