they told you death was coming--
he was right now standing
before his full length mirror
in an undershirt, picking out his tie.
a ways off yet, he's got to have
everything just so. death's a precise
mother fucker. they told you
but since he hadn't set foot out his door,
not yet, you couldn't quite believe it.
it's the feeling that there might be a guest--
you should probably polish the silver
and fluff the pillows. all this busy-work
because death is coming and what the hell
are you supposed to do with that?
isn't that the age old question? what
would you do if you knew death was coming?
seems like most of us think we should
clean the house and prepare a meal
like death is going to sit down and complement
the succulent smoked salmon and tender peas
or some shit. but when death has picked
out his perfect goddamned tie, shined his
mirror-bright, black leather wingtips,
tucked a knife in his boot and a gun in his belt,
he shows up like a hitman, all in black
because it hides stains better. just what
did we think? death was going to come gently?
no, death always kicks down the door
splatters the pristine carpet, and overturns
all the furniture. why vacuum that rug
when death just plans to rip it
out from under you? so back to the question
what would you do if you knew death
was coming? you'd fucking well try
to get out of the way, only nobody
can ever quite believe death is coming
until he arrives.
