The package
It was a green barn coat from L. L. Bean
That he had ordered, thinking of her
Walking the snowy hillside of his dream
Though she detested the style and color.
That it arrived two days after he died
Did not dispose her to detest it less
Though she may have wished she did,
The way she wished she’d kept house
More neatly or baked instead of fried,
For every coronary’s a latent homicide —
If not what we did, what we did not do.
If not what we said, what we did not say.