Death Confronted
As a courtesy I confront Death
In person trying to explain
My determination not to die
As you may imagine it is impossible
To engage in dialogue with Death
For as often as one personifies it
Death remains an ineffable abstraction
At best a bit of nomenclature
Nevertheless I proceed as if Death existed
But I do so without deference
I am firm I am indignant
I even threaten a bit
Knowing it will make no difference
Nor do I actually give reasons
(It is Death that owes us reasons)
In any case any list of objections
Would quickly embrace the maudlin
Say only I’ve put Death on notice
Death of course does not hear me
Death is deaf
In any case it is busy elsewhere
Everywhere for that matter
Sucking up multitudes
Emptying whole villages
Spiriting (sic) away the drowned
Prowling in hospitals alleys prisons
In fields where fat Generals
Build plump earthy mounds
It sweeps away a newborn
(There I become maudlin)
The feeble the precious the worthless
Philanthropists I understand (but poets?)
Bursting with cadavers
Death insatiable bulimic
Knows nothing of my whining
My execration of mortality
My idiotic intention
To obstinately decline
I go on railing
Defending this life
Cloaked in my armor of anger
Grinding the stubborn marrow
Of each newborn tomorrow
As if it were an afterlife
12/16-12/19/00
Copyright 2000 by Maurice Leiter
Posted with permission.
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