Poetry Annual 1998 O Y S T E R   B O Y   R E V I E W   [ 8 ]
  D I L S A V E R   / Review / Poem /
Paul Dilsaver
T H E   S L A V E   C O N T E M P L A T E S   R E T I R E M E N T
The sooner you die
the luckier you are:
this is one of those unspoken
laws of existence
known to all camels, oxen, mules,
even some brighter human
beasts of burden.

The most fortunate
die in the cradle,
unable to grasp life
in their tiny pink fists.
A last wheeze squeezes
from grapeskin lungs;
teat is yanked cruelly
from bluing lips forever.

The most misfortunate
live eternally in resthomes
strapped to bedrails.
Stuck in their own puddles
and a web of tubes,
they scream the same
nonsense syllable
in endless echo.

The rest of us
rot at our own rate,
each day's dull duties
bringing us a night closer to death
and something we can't imagine.
Until then, "work makes free"
as they say at Dachau,
so don't forget to set the alarm.

 
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