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Take-Out Take-Out
by Jan Sand
2020-09-03 09:01:09
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“I want,”
He said,
“When I
Am dead
To be most neatly kept.
tak001_400My eyes
Just closed,
My frame
Just as if I slept.”
“All rot
Must cease.
I’ll pay the fees.”
He cried, like King Canute.
“For I must freeze
At two degrees
Cryogenic absolute!”
So, sure enough
His friends
Did stuff
Him in a vacuum bottle.
Stiff and blue
Was their last view,
With a cork stuck in his glottal.
The Sun
Did burn,
The Earth
Did turn
Two hundred million spins,
While time
Did pass,
Beneath the grass
Where our frozen friend still grins.
As species must,
Mankind was dust,
But mind must have a site.
So, dogs and cats
In hats and spats
became somewhat more bright.
A feline digger
Couldn’t figure
The frozen sarcophagus.
“What is this thing
Some ancient king
Sent through time to plague us?”
He did pop
The thermos top
And slid out frozen friend.
The flesh
Still fresh,
Turquoise skin
Like a djinn.
This could cat comprehend.
So, wrapped in foil
And fried in oil
Our friend turned crispy brown.
With vintage wine
The taste was fine
When feline gulped him down.
But doubt still gripped
This cryptic crypt.
The cat had not a hunch
Why mankind
Had so inclined
To send him a boxed lunch.

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