Gassing Sylvia

Gassing Sylvia

“Dying is an art—
like everything else”
—Sylvia Plath, “Lady Lazarus

After the—third attempt
Sylvia’s head—stuck in the oven
She woke up—in her bed
“I’ll be fine”—she said
“Like Ariel—by the way
Have you—seen horses fly?”
She died—that night

Ted plodded on—moody
For thirty—more years
A poet laureate—his snout
Stuck in a sewer—behind the
graveyard wall—Black Boar

In both cases—Boss Cupid
The angel of death—paid them
A visit—from the Land of
Big Daddy—stomping his
Hob-nailed boot—on their
Pretty faces—squishing
Their—medulla oblongata

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