You are dead, Lewis Carroll

by Adam Scheffler

You are dead, Lewis Carroll, the young man said
And yet your hands are so strong
You are juggling two chairs, a saw, and your head
How do you get on?

In my life, chuckled sadly the poet
I shook when I tucked in a sheet
I screamed when I walked in a field of roses
And couldn’t make out my feet.

You are dead, said the boy, beg your pardon,
But you cure modern diseases
And you twist–tie stars to posts in your garden
Where they float and shine in the breezes.

Well in my life, the photographer said
From the crack in the tree there came voices
Which said one life’s as good as another
So don’t make any choices.

You are dead, said the boy Please excuse me
But you pop grapes into wines
And sleep high up in a spiral tree
Smiling and dressed to the nines.

You are right, the corpse said, I indulge
Far too much for my age
But when I grew up in the Battle of the Bulge
I played the Marseillaise on my cage.

You are so dead, said the baby, please tell me
How to live a real life
Should I work hard at learning to spell
Should I think of taking a wife?

Oh to be living, smiled the kind homme.
You’ll figure it out I guess.
Now leave me it’s time for my lesson in drums
And you make me a little depressed.