Since it's just the sort of overpowered black car
You'd expect Death to have I'm not surprised
To see him driving it, his hands at ten and two;
My Aunt Rose, having called shotgun, sits beside him.
This too is not surprising though I wonder
How she persuaded him to wear a chauffeur's cap.
She nods at me and carefully turns one gloved hand
Thirty degrees to the left then thirty degrees to the right --
A monarch acknowledging a subject's existence.
She looks pretty well, all things considered,
Her eyes still blue and sharp and cold.
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