For Edward Gorey

4-17-00

He kept the anvils stored, on the lowest floor,
the de-horned rhinos leashed, quite unable to gore,
poison clearly labelled (and kept far from the flour),
only tiny wind-up clocks pealed forth every hour.

Banisters reinforced and nooses sold for hemp,
each and every knife quite blunt, no needles left unbent.
Trap doors well nailed down, rugs and shingles too,    
snakes flushed from the plumbing, bats shooed from the flue.

Every door kept tightly locked, windows barred each night
to repel untoward danger, and accidental loss of life.
But past these preparations long, a shadow slid right in
to hide inside the poet's heart, and drop a single pin.

A quaver, a shiver, a quiver (they'd say a heart attack),
the feathered quill fell from his hand, into inky black.

JMV 4/17/00