[audioplayer file=”https://admin.rattle.com/audio/MooreDeath.mp3″]
It’s proportional to your weight, Charon explains
as he peels the coins from my eyelids.
This would get a girl about half your size across.
He has a yellow rubber rain hat that protects
him from the Styx spit.
He is used to this, I’m not.
No one told me, I say, meaning the price.
No mirrors in Ohio? he asks, meaning my size.
So, I’m stuck? We look at the river together. Stuck.
He hops in his boat, and I sit shoreside,
look back to the cloud I came from,
dancing away fast from me. And I look
to Charon. He waves, rowing away.
Just doing his job.