For an umpteenth time, I fix my tie
glance at the clock and sigh
The memorial service starts at eight
And as always, we'll be late
I yell 'Hon, what are you waiting for? '
and from her side of the bathroom door:
'Tell them I've got mourning sickness'
(I laugh at such a witty quickness)
she opens the door, perplexed somehow
then gives me a smiling hug
says 'therein lies the rub -
it's doubly funny now'
Chuck Audette
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mourning-sickness-2/
