I imagine the warning of death,
like all warnings, comes too little too late.
No letter through the post to peruse
among the morning toast,or host
making rueful announcements.
We will know our bulb is about to blow
when that low gravelly voice
slowly unravels the inner ear
whispering "Now is the time to feel real fear,
five seconds and counting."
Some will try to rise up from their chair,
others think of their stocks and shares,
or the girl they let slip by or a lie told,
and never confessed, which caused distress.
Most think its radio static interfering with
the early news and that after a coffee
they will continue to stew,
imbibing among the debris of their lives,
last night sleeping sound as the bell
they thought would never toll for them.