The grave affair of two old friends

McBeth.

A grave affair, this very unladylike leave-taking

Two long-unpolished vamps,
So far beyond their prime
Immodestly incontinent and offensively
malodorous, as if The Plague has descended upon them
now beg for benevolence,
clamor for compassion

Their tongues lolling, parched and shriveled
Throats withered to thin brittle leather strips

Several recent biopsies have proven
And second opinions have indeed confirmed
the gummy tumors
imbedded deeply in their souls remain
firmly inoperable,
malignant testaments to a lifetime of reckless
and ungoverned living

Still -- They stand resolutely now
And, wearily conceding defeat, they offer their resignation

Each consoles the other,
First, denying the necrosis (clearly visible near their collars)
Then - quietly, gently...
Looking into the leaking well of tears in one another's despairing eyes,
Admits the grim inevitability of their immediate futures

Huddled together, one toes the ground, whispering her
dreams to the other. Of how in their afterlives,
should they have them, they may return
as front yard planters for purple hybrid daisies which will,
come springtime, push up new life through their nutritive soil.

Interweaving laces, they lay down heel-to-heel
Weary
worn thin
offering up their lives in two final squeaks
releasing joy into the universe

Officials have not yet determined whether this will be considered
multiple homicide or a suicide pact.