Tea time and talk with the Grim Reaper

Tea time and talk with the Grim Reaper

“H…hold on” I croak. Too shy
To touch those midnight robes
I stare. Since my young days
I’ve waited to see his eyes.

He doesn’t turn, but he stops.
Those tremendous dark robes
Obscure his hidden feet.
My White Reeboks sit transfixed.

My Feet Only skitter towards
Slow-moving as child’s time
And stop at his backs, hidden
Under that flowered night dress

They fearfully sample tastes
Part wintered fear or wonder.
But having waited so long, and
Now Those Eyes are what await

“Would you care for tea” I ask
hoping to see his rubbed-red face.
He shakes his head. No footstep
No turn towards me nor away.

His back angled at exact point
Where no mirror could fathom
My question of his eyes, my
Desperate wish of a child’s peek.

I decide it must be now. And
With all my might, with the
Fierce opiates weaving my veins
I jump towards his ground’s glare.

His eyes. Because I must see
Remembering that night when I
was seven. How my warm blood ran
his dirty hands to those awful eyes.

My own eyes diverge and sweep
The cold night sky before I see
A beautiful face of a young girl
so different, but eyes the very same.