An Interview With Death

Death took a bony finger and pushed his glasses up on his nose, noting the inordinate discomfort their downward slide did impose, and gave a rueful but winning smile, bringing puzzlement to us looking on, as we wondered what is this dark angel's plan, among us a few minutes, then gone. The drink his interrogator offered him then began to kick in and he gave a hollow chuckle and mused on where to begin. Time was, he was not a constant companion, escorting away a relatively few of the elected, unlike now in these times of dictators and mass killings he's ubiquitous, not respected. Back not so long ago he depended on wars to busy himself and make himself known, but now we might go to the grocery and be blown to bits, no one is safe from this havoc that's been sown. No more traveling to far-off foreign soils to usher away the dead, now give but a few their killing toys and he needs only rise from his bed. He used to be something special, this spectral fellow called Death, but now he is always with us as we wait and wonder is this our last breath. And Death fusses with his spectacles cadges a few free drinks, tries to relax from being always on call and wants only to catch a few winks.

Bluejay

Veteran of old My Poetry Forum before its hiatus. Happy to be back.

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