When I was in college I wrote
Any number of poems in which Death and I
Were close friends. In some we rode motorcycles;
(He'd trouble keeping his robe from getting tangled;
The wind blew his cowl back as we sped along.)
In others we wandered or looked for work
Or called each other on the phone or had fights.
I haven't written like that in years
Content to deal with younger Deaths,
Either children or young businessmen
Who'd feel ridiculous holding a scythe.
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