Death came squawking like a parrot
Bearing loads of ghoulish limbs
Veiny eyes and rotten fingers
Sheets of soft, decaying skins.
“Buy from me, the one and only!
I am Death, the great Unfair!
I’ve got deals to blow your head off!
I’ve got sales extraordinaire!
Discounts on discarded eyelids!
Half off shriveled infant ears!
Buy two kidneys, get a third one!
Plus a vial of mourners’ tears!”
When I heard Sir Death come hawking
I went out to buy some things
Very cheap aborted babies
And a gift of beetle wings
“Am I not the
greatest salesman?”
Death had asked me with a grin
“Sir, you are! I can’t deny it!
How much is that rotten skin?”
“Just six pennies for an acre!”
Death replied as he unrolled
Yards and yards of shriveled pore-sheets
Only lightly stained with mold
“What a deal!” I cried. “Six pennies!”
“Give me twenty acres then!”
He handed me the skin
And gifted me a fountain pen
“Thank you, friend!” he told me
“Twas a pleasure meeting you!
And now I’ve got to go and kill
A man who lives in Timbuktu!”
Death mounted his fine horse
And galloped off into the dusk
He left behind the smell of rot
I noticed with disgust.
And I was left with all I’d purchased:
Murdered babies, rolls of skin
I took it home to my dear wife
And told her with a happy grin:
“Darling, look how cheap it is
To buy from Death!” I said out loud
And when I saw she too was dead
I wished that I had bought a shroud.
I wished that I had bought a shroud.
