Large Fierce Mammal

A Tipple With Death

By LFM

Death came to call on a neighbour last night,
One I never knew well past a nod and a wave,
That she drove her wee car just a little too fast,
And a widow, her husband three years in the grave.

I thought, it’s a while since we shared a wee dram,
As through my desk window I watched Him go by,
So I tapped on the pane and He turned His grim head,
“Come in if you’ve time ere the next one’s to die!”

And soon I was back in my writing desk chair,
My guest sprawled in comfort on opposite chaise,
We stared at the fire o’er a 60 year dram,
A suitable pour for the Ender of Days.

Our glasses half emptied ere speaking a word,
I finally asked, “Was she fucked or just doomed?”
He said, “Sad, don’t you think, when I harvest your kind,
“While Doomed is a given, that Fucked is presumed?”

I sipped and agreed with a nod of my head,
“The distinction’s not new, and Doom’s not to be ducked.
“We’re all of us Doomed, and as sure as we’re born,
“Our choices say if and how badly we’re fucked.”

Then Death pricked an ear and in haste drained His glass,
He savoured its dregs ere His snifter He chucked,
Straight into the fire, a smile on His lips,
“This one is both Doomed and royally Fucked!”

He strode to the door where He paused and looked back,
“There’s something, my Friend, you should know of this matter,
“Summon your Bannermen, rally your Clan,
For this kind of Fuckery’s Hell bound to splatter.”