Death Erection

I’m told it’s a natural response.
That’s too funny. Really, too funny.
Happens rather frequently with executions,
according to reliable eye witness reports.
More often than not, that’s what
knowing eyes were watching for.
Not the noose at the neck.
Is your favorite Western movie
realistic enough to get it straight?
This might explain why the stunt actor
isn’t asked to stand in for the climax?
So I’m told that’s the usual response.
It’s what he was shooting for.
Now that’s funny. Really, too funny.
Just before the oxygen runs out.
Just before the blood explodes.
The intersection of limbs where
everything comes together.
Who wouldn’t want it that good?
Who wouldn’t get as addicted?
So I’m told it’s a common practice.
That he’s nowhere near alone.
That’s funny too. Really, too funny.
The Vatican has hidden it for centuries.
The insurance companies tag it suicide.
The newspapers bury it on back pages.
His own friends turn it into dark gossip.
Is it poetic enough to sing him to sleep?
Will his muse get nearly as aroused?
So I’m told he died laughing. Happy.
That’s too funny. Really, too funny.
If he’d let the CPR attempts succeed,
he might even have had residual memory
of my hand in his lap in simple wonder.
Should we give this to Leno’s joke writers?
Something about four hours after, perhaps?
The really funny thing about it is,
Death is the one who gets off most
on intercourse with each of its lovers.




written for Daily Prompt: Ha Ha Ha
at the Daily Post

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