Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Death invited me for lunch


    “It’s on me,” he said, “wine?”
    “I don’t drink any longer,” I said.
    “Ah, I heard that – hurt my
    Feelings -- thought you didn’t love
    Me any more.”  “What do you mean,”
    I asked nonplused?  “All those stunts
    Of yours, the handstands on top of
    Oil derricks and third-story balconies.
    Back then you were rushing toward me
    Full of heat, walking across those bridges
    On the rails.  I thought you loved me then.”
    “What,” I asked amazed.  “Is death a girl?
    “I can be if you like.”  “No, don’t” I said. 
    “I don’t care.  What do you want with me now?

    “What do I want?  Why to be your friend,
    To urge you to get your ducks in a row.
    Your kids, you know could use your
    Money.  Don’t become selfish after all
    This time.”  “Too bad,” I said.  “They’ll
    Have to wait.  You need to be sneakier
    Than this.  What are you having for lunch?”

    “If I can’t have you,” she sniffed, and
    Turned toward the waiter, “I’ll have the
    Fillet mignon, au jus, very rare.” “Of
    Course madam, “he said, “and you sir?”
    I shoved the menu aside, “Chef’s Salad,
    Blue cheese mixed in.”  “Very good, sir”
    He said and bowed.  “They seem to know

    You here,” I observed, looking about at
    The furtive glances, the haste with which
    They ate, the dashing away of those who were
    Paying their bills.  “They love me one and all,
    The shy things.  Just won’t say so.  There’s
    Always someone nearby with a sack full
    Of Jealous thoughts,” she said looking around.

    I glowered at her over my fork.  “As long as
    You’re here, perhaps you’d tell me what it is
    Comes next?”  She frowned, “After your salad,
    You mean?  “Well, if it’s okay with you, we’ll
    Look at the dessert menu later on.”   “No, not
    The salad, you, Death.  What comes after you?” 
    “Why I don’t know.  They never tell me anything.
    I’m just a servant.”  “A Civil Servant,” I suppose,”
    I sneered.  “Well a bit like that, but more like a
    Cosmic Servant, I would say, she said, puffing
    Out her chest.”  “Well who are the ‘they’ you
    Referred to,” I asked then?  “Who are they ever,”
    She cocked an eyebrow looking about the restaurant. 
    She opened a case and took out a thin cigar,

    “Do you have a light,” she asked in a sexy
    Voice, leaning toward me with the cigarillo
    Between her lips?  “I don’t smoke,” I said,
    Backing away.  “Well I do, dear boy.  Here
    Use my Zippo.  I took it, clicked open the lid
    And turned the little wheel watching the fire,
    Seeing her eyes watch mine.  “Look pretty good
    To you,” she asked?  “Your cigarillo or the fire?”
    “Whatever you like she said in a husky voice
    Drawing the smoke into her lungs.  I don’t get
    To play an active role.  It’s whatever comes my
    Way.”  “Sort of like road-kill perhaps?”  I said.
    She leaned back and chuckled, “If that’s your
    Desire, then let’s leave now.  I’ll get the bill.”


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