A Variation On Schrödinger’s Cat

You come home from work,
Open the door,
Put your daily mail on the kitchen table,
Sigh,
Run your hands through your gray hair,
Pour yourself a glass of wine,
Open the mail,
Throw it away,
The cat rubs against your leg,
“Alive,” you say,
Maybe, maybe not,
You look at the refrigerator,
The closed door gives you a feeling of security
But you really don’t know what’s for supper
Until you open it up, do you?
But there it is, the cold roast beef,
The Jarlesberg cheese,
Behind the bottle of Asti
Is your 9mm handgun that you keep
In the refrigerator,
Just in case an intruder threatens you,
“Just a second,” you say, “Would you like some Asti?”
The two of you struggle, she has the gun
But you really don’t know if it’s loaded
Until she pulls the trigger, do you?
The bier makes its way through the sanctuary,
You look at the scattering of people in the pews,
Some laughing,
Some crying,
Some just staring at the casket,
But they really don’t know if you are in there or not,
Do they.