Necropolis

Standing in line
at the House of Rhapsody
and Commerce, scratching
the drivel from my ears,
and looking stupid, I glance up
at the sky and see cadavers falling.
They make a terrible splash
when they hit the street
so I flap my arms and squawk
like everyone else.

In the gutter
rats scurry through the death juice,
over spoiled meat and splintered bones.
Their nostrils twitch at every piece of flesh.

People are now beating each other
and throwing their bodies
against the steel of bolted doors.
An old man
falls to his knees weeping, and wails
about falling dividends and the death tax.

On the television screen
the Dow Jones is up
and CNN has formed a panel.

Somewhere in the distance,
a cowboy yodels.