Humorous Poem

Funny Poem About Death

When my father died some 30 years ago, his brother called and told me my dad had "expired." I wondered why he just didn't tell me he died. Since that time I have collected a list of euphemisms available for those who find it difficult to inform someone of a close relative's death by telling how it is. I find some of them quite funny, and perhaps you will too. I hope to hear from you sometime before I "occupy a horizontal phone booth."

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I found this poem very refreshing and true. Very good.

Dead Is Dead

Published by Family Friend Poems April 2017 with permission of the Author.

When somebody dies, folks hardly ever say "dead."
They prefer "expired" or "departed" instead.
Most of the euphemisms don't do any harm,
Like "biting the dust" or "buying the farm."

There are "fallen off the perch" and "given up the ghost."
"Taking a dirt nap" is one I like most.
"Kicked the oxygen habit" and "gone offline"
Are a couple favorites of mine.

How about "at room temperature" or "fell off the twig,"
"Wearing a toe tag" or "played his last gig"?
"Bought a pine condo" and "six feet under,"
"Became a root inspector" makes one wonder.

Try "went belly up" and "bit the biscuit."
"Laid down his burden" and never missed it.
"Gone to his maker" and "out of print,"
"In a horizontal phone booth" for a permanent stint.

"Defunct," "extinct," and "in the crisper."
Most say 'em no louder than a whisper.
"Gone to sleep city" and "passed his sell by date,"
"Cashed in his chips at the pearly gate."

Now we could go on, but you get the point.
Have a fun in life before "checking out of this joint,"
And should you come to my funeral, don't bring a thing.
Just sit back and listen to the fat lady sing.

ABOUT THE POET:

Alan Balter was born May 25th, 1939 in Chicago. He worked as a teacher for children with special needs before becoming a professor in the Special Education Department at Chicago State University. There, he prepared teachers for children and adolescents with learning disabilities and developmental delays. Along with Poetry for my Grandchildren...

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