Buried
by William Morgan
He opened his eyes
Darkness filled him with dread
He scratched on the lid
Screaming “I am not dead!”
He kicked and he punched
And wept with despair
He shuddered and gulped
As he ran out of air
He thought of his Wife,
Kids, and lover Irene
Remembered the photos
the chaotic scene
Recalled drinking the scotch
Then nothing else formed
Hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned
