Monday, March 31, 2014

Please don't joke about that!

When I Refused to Ride with Death
with apologies to Emily Dickinson
When I refused to ride with Death
He tied my hands and feet,
Then tossed me in with some poor guy
He'd grabbed up off the street.

Oh, what a hurry he was in!
He slammed it to the floor.
We sat in wide-eyed, abject fear,
Each clinging to a door.

While whizzing past the school, we saw
The children run and play.
We passed the fields where tractors hummed
On this, our judgment day.

We captives introduced ourselves,
Shook hands, and sadly talked.
When Death heard unfamiliar names,
He gasped, slowed down, and balked.

He made a sudden stop beside
A swelling of the ground.
He scratched his head, he murmured low,
And then he turned around.

" 'Tis centuries until your time!
I've made a grave mistake.
Seems I misread the pick-up sheet.
You're free, for goodness sake!"
by Janice Canerdy
in Volume 3 Issue 1

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