Poetry
Felix Thursday
Death and the Maiden
Death is seated on the couch
reciting Rexroth to me.
She's in the front yard
picking daisies.
"What did that flower ever do to you?" I ask.
And Death laughs.
Death cooks me breakfast
and sits across from me reading the newspaper,
still laughing.
"What's so funny?"
Oh, everything!
Death doesn't take anything seriously.
She is so self-absorbed.
Death borrows my socks
and goes through my photo albums,
pointing and asking: Who's this?
Every morning I wake up,
and Death has left a dent
on the pillow next to mine.
She watches me in the shower.
Death is a voyeur.
Death distracts me.
Won't leave me alone.
Sometimes needing too much attention.
She's always daring me to do things:
See if you can swim out to the middle of the lake.
Faster! Faster!
Jump!
One more won't kill you.
