If Death

If Death

If death were to turn up early, 
I’d invite him to take a load off 
And offer him tea, a kind that 
Takes years to steep, then begin 
Telling him a story so boring
He falls asleep. Death 
With his thinning black hair, 
His bad combover, his dandruff.
But one night sleep, death's
Accomplice, will dagger me 
And in the new silence he’ll wake
And remember why he’s there.
He’ll reach out and touch my hair, 
Then take a sip of his tea, turned
Cold and unimaginably bitter, 
Before making his way
Over to your place.