It’s No Picnic

Death has forgotten me,
gone out on a picnic
wearing Edwardian dress.
I hope her bustle pinches.

I have an antiseptic room,
food through a tube
and I can’t laugh.
Still, there’s no ants.

Ah, Death. About time.
What? No, wait. Hey!
Don’t walk past.
Food poisoning’s room 7.

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