The coffin maker is a happy man now.
More and more orders keep coming in.
Soon he'll able to marry off
his daughters who have just attained puberty
and keep pretty Angela happy
on condoms strawberry flavoured an chocolate ice.
Of late he painted his house bright chrysanthemum red
ordered teakwood beds and never cared a damn
what the neighbours said. Atop his showroom
the great catlights came on
and his name glowed in the dark
whenever passing lights hit it.
Now he's not wondering any more,
he knows he's the best in town.
What about air-conditioning? That would lengthen
the life of coffins. Now he's struck with a bright new idea
that would revolutionise coffin making for
all time. Electronic remote-controlled polymer coffins
with micro chips and inbuilt flash units
that brought home to your PC screen
your dear dear dear departed along with uptodate
information on the state of decomposition
that you could activate or slow down
much like a video-game. An idea he knew would catch on like
wild fire making him a billionaire overnight.
Now whenever he kneels down with Angela
to pray,
he can only think of this
no one else can help him raise such funds
so hi-tech
which of course secretly meant
more and more accidents, causalities, fatalities
of course work was worship, it didn't matter what you did
you just had to put in your best, there could be no wrong asking
and for all this (if his dream came true)
he would keep his wood
and bury his god
in a coffin of gold.
Gopi Krishnan Kottoor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-coffin-maker/
