Cheating Death

Death came for me today.
As I sat there playing on my computer.
“Your time has come,” he cried.
So I did what any respective person would do.
I lied.

“Good sir, would you be willing to have a cup of tea with me?”
I asked gesturing towards the set that had painted daisies
and swirls that gleamed in the bright sun. “You must be
tired from your long journey.”
So Death, being the polite harbinger that would end my
meek existence, gladly took a cup and sipped on it, holding
the cup with his dry bony fingers that cracked with each flex.
After several minutes Death set down the tiny cup.
“Thank you, kind lady, that hit the spot.
But now I must do my job.”
“Wait.” I said. “I have some errands I need to finish.
Will you accompany me? And then I will come along with
you with most haste.”

The Reaper complied, though annoyed.
He had a tight schedule that he could not diverge from.
But off to the supermarket we went entering soon after
he listened to the sounds of the jingle and jangle
as I fought with the cart to untangle.
What an odd sight this must be:
out around town shopping with the Grim Reaper and me.

Now onto my list I told him.
Toilet paper, crackers, canned tomatoes, and grape jelly.
Nuts and raisins, rice and flour, pickles that are sour.
We head to the aisles where’s there is a whooshing
Of the doors where food is freezing—
now onto Choc chip ice cream, frozen veggies,
stacks of packets and boxes that are brightly teasing
you into purchasing them.

Did she want green or bright red apples?
Did he want Crusty buns or fresh sliced bread?
“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport Death.” I said. “We’re almost done.”
Then there’s the waiting in the checkout line, where lights blink,
buttons beep, the ever so often call of “Price Check aisle 3.”
Death was unhappy.
Remember he had a schedule to keep.

Finally we were back in my black Corolla, which sparkled in the sun
after its latest wash. I buckled up, though it doesn’t matter,
I told him. “For I am dying correct?”
“Yes.” He replied, almost in relief. But that relief soon washed away
like the grime off my windshield with window cleaner.
“Damn. I forgot the milk.” I declare. “We must go back.”
“I don’t care!” He finally snarled, his gleaming red eyes threatening me
with destruction and total annihilation.
“I have sat here quietly and waited and waited. And now I am late!
Late I say!”

Screams of the damned, ice cold, sulphuric smelling smoke filled the cab as
he cursed me wasting his time. But he didn’t do what I expected.
Instead of reaping in my soul, he warned me that
he would be after me eventually, and then he was gone.
Off to a next, hopefully more complacent, victim.
Moral of the story is: When the Grim Reaper comes to reap your soul
and you aren’t ready, offer him a cup of tea. See where it takes you.