Ten O'Clock, day after tomorrow,
Henry Nilson's funeral's almost here,
I hate to but I really have to go
Cause we've been friends for sixty years
Rode twelve years on the same old bus
Made memories by the dozens
Played sports, chased girls and learned to cuss,
Married sweethearts who were cousins....
Adjoining acres, ranched and farmed
Never had a fight or angry word,
Kept each other's backs from harm,
Old Henry's death just seems absurd.
Melva loved to worry on about the kids and weather
And when the television doctors said
"Go get a physical," she said, "We'd better!"
And then commenced the journey of the dead.
Old Henry'd never had a use for hospitals,
Said only sick people should go, and he'd
No time for such a waste of time at all...
Besides, he wasn't even sick, by gee.
But Melva kept the pressure up, and she
Though never tall, was never short with words
'Til poor ol' Henry finally gave in to her plea
And let her make a date with Dr. Wards.
He grumbled to me afterwards, about the big to-do,
"They put me on a fast the day before, not even water!
Couldn't have a cup of joe, nor pinch of chew!
And when we got there, the nurse looked like our daughter!
Old Henry seldom saw the sun below his tee-shirt line,
So when she handed him a gown, he struggled for a time
Before he put the ****** thing on, "minus any clothes"
And wondered how to cinch it up...the fasteners were behind.
Old Dr. Ward gave cautious smile on entering the room,
"How long's it been, Mr. Nilson, since your last physical?
I don't have a record of your charts, so I assume
You've doctored elsewhere?" He looked up, quizzical.
Henry cleared his throat and said, "I ain't been anywhere!"
(At seventy, such a terse statement is something to be said.)
"Wal...that 'ent exactly true, I guess. There was a couple times
I came for stitches or a broke arm"... his face was weathered red.
What happened next, old Henry wouldn't speak a word...
Results were good, surprised the doc and Melva, too.
"You'll make a hundred at this rate," the doctor purred,
And Henry saddled up and left all in a stew.
A week or so went by, and Henry's medical triumph
Made the rounds of gossips in church and at the bar;
"A waste of time!" was all old Henry humphed.
And the next day, a heart attack took him in the car.
No moral now will end this sad old story,
No fancy shibboleths or speculation;
I notice though, the clinic's in less glory,
From physicals, I'm taking a vacation.
I have seen this happen a time or two. The doctors tell somebody he'll live to a hundred and he dies on the way home. Crazy.
