Pattern 17

Benjamin Franklin
was always angling
for a memorable maxim
until death did tax him.

Betsy Ross
was at a loss.
Fate cut her thread
and now she was dead.

Philip Syng Physick
worked wonders with his sick
patients, but mending
couldn’t stop his own ending.

John Wanamaker
took on an acre
of retail space breezily.
His grave? Just as easily.

John Barrymore
would surely have carried more
films with his clout
if his lungs had held out.

Mario Lanza
would belt out a stanza
sure to delight us
were it not for phlebitis.

John Coltrane
could transform most pain
into cascading shivers,
but not his liver’s.

Louis I. Kahn
expounded upon
the grandest and best tomb,
then died in a restroom.

Princess Grace
could make a case
for a badly-stacked deck,
with a stroke and a wreck.

Pearl Bailey
sang and danced daily,
but for all of her art
was betrayed by her heart.

Marian Anderson—
no dame was grander—spun
heads with her song,
until Death came along.

Wilt Chamberlain
could win a game or win
women’s favor instead.
He died in his bed.

Y
didn’t die
in the usual fashion:
her finale was smashing.

[22:00 / memorializing / clerihew / lungs / x-stitch / Betsy Ross House]