I’ll Be Back
Death knocked on the wrong door,
twice this week.
He stopped on my street,
bold as a cloudless sunrise.
He checked his book,
across the road,
one door down,
slid on in.
The guy over on the
odd side of 40th,
one door down,
put up a fight, and,
Wouldn’t die,
after the ambulance ride,
and emergency dance,
he came home still kickin,
Until last night when,
death dropped by,
gripping his lined, 3×5,
looking for the right address.
Mumbling, “This is the right street,
I know he lives here.
I saw him playing with,
His daughters’ dogs.”
He looked hard at my house,
he sensed me peeking back,
as I felt him looking, then,
went one door down across the street.
He took the guy this time,
and kept him.
Dead,
despite firemen, EMT’s and cops.
You can hear death’s thoughts,
when he comes for you,
And last night,
Death thought,
“This ain’t right.
Paperwork’s wrong but,
can’t go back empty coffined.
Return trips are expensive.”
