The Only Problem

cc licensed ( BY ND ) flickr photo by h.koppdelaney: http://flickr.com/photos/h-k-d/4030113126/

To celebrate seven days of NaPoWriMo (and eight written poems), I should have created something festive. Instead, I came up with the darkest poem I have written this week. Sorry, but it's my party and I'll cry if I want to.


He bought a rope.
Then he fixed that fence.
He had been postponing it for a long time.
He tidied the house
and wrote a will.
Then he wrote one more letter.
He took his bills out of the box and checked them.
All paid.
He called his son, who said he was feeling better today 
and even managed to eat.
He hung up, then called his daughter.
She was unavailable.
It was getting late, so he had to hurry.
He took the rope from where it was lying
And slowly walked out.
At the door he stopped and looked at the room.
All nice and tidy.
Then he walked over to the barn.
That was all.
But who will take care of his cat now?