Death and the Devil

[bairnsidhe]

Death and the Devil

Walk into a bar

Death raises a brow

As the Devil sits

“Go on and say it,”

The Devil says.

Death pulls a chair down

“Say what, exactly?”

“You think I was stupid,

Reckless, and rude.”

“That’s not what I think,”

Death replies, grim.

“I think you were hurting,

And not looking for help.

I think that’s normal, and

Going to get you killed.”

“I can take care of myself,”

The Devil says hotly.

Death snorts, and brushes

Concrete from horns.

“I know you believe that,

But believing that… well,”

Death snarks from his cup,

“That’s how you get dead.”

“What does it matter to you

If I get myself dead?”

Asks the Devil, “Nobody is

Left to care if I die now.”

“That’s not true,” says Death,

And a million memories flood

Both their minds, of home,

And freedom, family and sky.

“So do I get another try?”

Asks the Devil, not looking,

Not that it matters, and

They both know it.

“We’ll see,” says Death.