heaping dirt on Howard Chenfeld’s casket on Sunday, I got to thinking about one of his poems and had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing:
If I should die while choking on an egg roll
In a so-so Chinese restaurant
Across the street from K-Mart,
Please remember that I was born
Under the sign of the rabbit.
A very lucky sign.
from The Columbus Dispatch: Poet who bloomed late lived with zest
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