I Forgot

When Saint Peter asked me how I’d died --

If I’d been drowned, or burnt, electrified,

Shot, stabbed, laid low by homicide --

“I forgot,” was all that I replied.

“No,” I said, feeling mortified,

“I bit the dust, another lonely suicide.”

With that, his angelic eyes grew wide.

“Not on purpose, though,” I clarified.

“Skydiving one day, goggle-eyed,

 I became a bit too preoccupied

 Admiring the beauty of the countryside

 To notice my chute had come untied.

How I forgot, I’m still mystified;

But I could only watch, horrified,

The chord did nothing every time I tried,

As the Earth and I were about to collide.”

Saint Peter waved his hand, satisfied.

“An accident,” he said, “hardly suicide.”

“It was my fault, though” I sadly sighed.

“You see, I’d become so terrified,

I forgot... the reserve chute on the other side.”