His mouth moves but no words come out
and I am accountable for not comprehending
but the dictum thus passed down is lost
as he is lost for words it would seem,
though I can make out some mumbling
if I listen very closely.
And when his flesh starts to rot from
his pearly white bones and sloughs off
on to the floor of his pantry,
I will be held accountable for his woes.
And when I refuse to accept the dictum
thus passed down, I will be slotted
to burn with the rest, but at least
my meat will stay virile and fresh,
and stuck to my skeleton until
the moment just before it is