In July of that year, an
Egyptian magician
Lay like Pharoah in the depths,
And made it to an hour.
In August of that year, you
Took your turn, we
Counted the minutes
Breathlessly.
Submerged, no burial-at-sea
A hotel pool
The setting for this
Viking funeral;
The only burning
Must have been your lungs.
We thought maybe you had
Already died
In the first minutes instead of
Over ninety
Underwater.
You came back to us
In a flurry of bubbles,
To raucous applause and the
Spectre of death that claimed you
In October of that year, your
Final escape.
The star of the show, you are
An outlasting ghost.
The hotel was called the Shelton.
We don't remember Pharoah's name.
