'Help, help, ' said a man. 'I'm drowning.'
'Hang on, ' said a man from the shore.
'Help, help, ' said the man. 'I'm not clowning.'
'Yes, I know, I heard you before.
Be patient dear man who is drowning,
You, see I've got a disease.
I'm waiting for a Doctor J. Browning.
So do be patient please.'
'How long, ' said the man who was drowning. 'Will it take for the Doc to arrive? '
'Not very long, ' said the man with the disease. 'Till then try staying alive.'
'Very well, ' said the man who was drowning. 'I'll try and stay afloat.
By reciting the poems of Browning
And other things he wrote.'
'Help, help, ' said the man with the disease, 'I suddenly feel quite ill.'
'Keep calm.' said the man who was drowning, ' Breathe deeply and lie quite still.'
'Oh dear, ' said the man with the awful disease. 'I think I'm going to die.'
'Farewell, ' said the man who was drowning.
Said the man with the disease, 'goodbye.'
So the man who was drowning, drownded
And the man with the disease past away.
But apart from that,
And a fire in my flat,
It's been a very nice day.

Mom shot Jake's cat
with the screen door open,
with dirtied snow covering the
gravel drive. And Jake, bless
his little soul, watched from
the door frame as Dad took
over, snagging the bloodied
mess by the tail and dumping
it in the waiting grave. Mom
told Jake that's the way it is
as she opened the .410's ejection
port and deposited the shell into
her hand. She gave it to him.
A memento. Jake didn't know this
word at the time but years later,
four to be exact, he'd look up
memento for a spelling test,
and think of Dad piling loose dirt,
tiny sticks, and snow on the cat
while he, Jake, stared at the
discharged shotgun shell,
still warm in his hand.