I bump into Death
at the queue for the burger van.
'Oh, hi,' I say. 'Are you
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
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,
'Better to laugh than fight,' I say.
'We could learn-' I turn to look.
Death is gone.
Thursday, 26 November 2009
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