Retribution

A stroller of the city

     Lay dying on the walk;

His life seemed all but ebbing,

     He couldn’t even talk.

“It looks quite like a murder,”

     The big policeman said

“Or else a might sunstroke

     Has hit him on the head.”

“Not so,” someone did venture,

     He courted death, did he;

He asked a question, which sir,

     Resulted fatally.

He asked a passing stranger

     Perspiring to the core:

‘Say, is it hot,’ – then “biff”, sir,

     He never said no more!”

June 17, ‘09