Pass

Gatekeeper to the compost pile
the boatman for the river Styx
I'm trying to cross the last mile
adventure's done, I'm calling it quits

Shadowed Charon silhouettes the dark 
lowly murmurs, "You got I.D.?
a passport, something of that sort,
something with a picture to see?"

I gaze at the black outline above
evaluating this unexpected request
Is terminus admission really that tough?
Do I need to comply to this behest?

"Sorry", I say, "I left my pockets in life
I assumed you'd have records here."
"We do", he replied, "our info is rife,
but identities we need to insure."

"Birth certificate, and two credit cards,
or driver's license and utility bill,
cancelled check, something of that regard
some documentation, you know the drill."

"But I'm dead" I stammered, "What does this mean?"
"Am I not permitted time to decompose?"
"This transition from betwixt and between
to eternity seems like I'm - indisposed"

"You, good boatman, may think it fine, but, 
to carry proof of identity, I must disagree"
"Sir, you must stand aside of the line.
Go back to purgatory and get some I.D.!"

© Goode Guy 2014-02-13
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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