I imagined something Victorian.
Perhaps I imagined a lecture hall filled with side-whiskered,
Sherlockian doctors, arguing case histories
like gentlemen playing chess with death–
or perhaps I imagined priests,
performing absolution at the bier.
underground conference room.
I was unsurprised at the bitter
coffee, the keening of the projector, the recalcitrant
bangs from the water pipes–
of the mundane: morbidity startling like turnips;
mortality remarkable as rain.
3 thoughts on “Mortality and Morbidity Conference”
Really nice poem. Thanks for sharing.
I enjoyed this. Good poem.
Stunning, beautiful language.