The Butcher, the Baker, the
Candlestick Maker
They come without warning
and ask for you by name.
They know from talking
to your neighbors that sometimes
you have trouble falling asleep,
and that when you do,
you go down to the water
and wander among the stranded
and step over the drowned.
The fat one punches you
playfully in the arm.
He wears an apron
and a comic little moustache.
“Cheer up!” he says.
“These aren’t the last days,
even if it feels like them.”
