We walk hand in hand with Death every day
We just never noticed him before
Pretending we had control, no such thing as
Chance.
But now we know
And that’s not a bad thing
To see Death in the mirror
Like a gentle reminder, stuck on the refrigerator.
Me, I tip my hat to him and try to stay out of his way
And each and every glorious day, I thank him for not
Intruding.
(Previously published in No Alibi Press, Feb.2002)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem