I bump into Death
at the queue for the burger van.
'Oh, hi,' I say. 'Are you
getting burgers?'
then wince.
Death doesn't seem to mind
my poor small talk.
I think we're both a bit pissed.
Onions squeak on the hotplate.
Death and I stand side by side,
not speaking, and watch a fight
kicking off
over by the historic market.
A man with tight curly hair grapples
another, tugging his red jumper
up over his head till the second man
is stumbling blindly. The fight
dissolves into pisstake jeers,
then laughter.
'Better to laugh than fight,' I say.
'We could learn-' I turn to look.
Death is gone.
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