There’s a whole lot of noise in final.
The grim reaper has my bones
betting on rattles and dust
while my flesh still fantasizes
about a heartbeat.
Grim stands in the corner
dressed in a black cape and
broken tooth smile looking more
like a cousin to a jack o’ lantern
than the epitome of fearful.
He’s so eager to collect a shell
he can’t see the pearl in the satin lined box.
He is pepper spraying the room with so many tears
conversations can’t rally long enough to funnel stories
about my crazy into belly laughs loud enough
to offend proper etiquette.
If death were a woman, she’d introduce herself,
clear the room of morbid, light a lavender scented candle,
and edit my sins with just enough truth
to smooth the wrinkles in my obituary.
She would borrow a bit of my sense of humor,
uncork my favorite wine, invite visitors to enjoy
the dessert buffet with a satirical one liner,
“Death goes better with chocolate.”
Lady Death would pull up a chair next
to my guilt bought over priced crate, lean down
to whisper, “I thought you wanted to burn?”
and we’d create a list of those I wanted to haunt.
©Susie Clevenger 2016