YOUR LITTLEST SMILE

Death, rather diffident
(rather shy)

comes to me & says:

'It is time to die.'

'Ok...' I say '...when? '

'...like, this moment? '

'This second...? '

I struggle
with my heart attack

as Death
(feeling bad about it)

reposes my artefacts.

Outside, a van pulls up
with neat Gothic script

DEATH - REMOVALS.
it spells out in big bold letters.

I like it.

Death's got style
(& a nice smile)

& is a kind...
...of groovy guy.

Or is he a lady...
...boy...it's hard to tell

this here heart attack
sure hurts like hell.

'Ok, boys - take it all
away! '

Death's little helpers
all big bruisers all over 7' 2'
(former nightclub bouncers)

set to it with a will.

They take away
the blue sky
under which I had first kissed you.

They take away that night
sky under which I had kissed you more.

They took away
the little day to day
things

I always loved

the shape of your mouth

your continuously falling hair
brushed impatiently away

from your eyes

...your eyes...

the smell of your perfume
in an empty room

the littlest of your smiles
I had saved
for a rainy day

meanwhile
like a living Houdini

I had done it

somehow wrestled out
of the heart attack's strait jacket.

'****! ' Death
spat in a peevish manner.

'How, in God's name
did you do that? '

Death, sighed:
'Ok, kid...ya got me
- this time! '

'Right, boys... put it all back!
Put everything back! '

Les boys, scowl at me
as if to say: ' I'll remember you
...sunny Jim! '

'You...' Death
snarled from the side of his mouth

annoyed now
(no more Mr. Nice Guy)

'You...I'll see you
again! '

A tear...trickled down
my cheek

(unable to speak)
all I could do

was glance down

(your littlest smile)

clasped tightly
in my hand.