- if I wanted
- I’d want death to have something to offer.
- not just another glad-handing politician about to sell me out
- but a diplomat,
- able to bring peace to my table.
- I’d want death to be my match.
- after pouring over the world like it was a good book
- and I an avid reader,
- after making love a hundred thousand million times
- as if each time was the first time,
- after all the hunger and curiosity and paying attention
- to the heave and groan and arch and thrust
- and sweat and gasp and release of it all,
- I’d want to feel I’ve suddenly met Mr. Right.
- I’d want to meet him in some neighborhood barn
- where the hayloft is and the sweet smell of cow.
- my heart might be lined and saggy
- from drinking too much cancer,
- but all he’ll see are my merry, bright eyes,
- the muscles in my back as I pitch straw with the boys,
- and my cute little ass in tight jeans.
- at first I’d think death’s a crazy old coot with a far-out car and I’ll agree to a spin—
- ‘cause I’m nothin’ if not easy—
- but then I’d want to discover that death’s a real gent, able to take me out in style.
- and when I trip over the threshold
- I’d want him to catch my arm, steady me, tell me not to worry,
- his parents will like me.