A Macabre Dance
One starry night, a very long ago it
was death who thought to out-drink the poet.
Oh, let me pour you, death, a little more
of English ale in half with the Dalmore*.
Just look at her! As drunken as a Scouse,
death sings “Sweet Lucy”, dancing around the house.
I bet you’ve never seen her as she stands:
the drunken death is dancing on her hands!
If not in heaven, you will surely sup
in hell**. The blouse undone! The skirt caught up!
The drunken Death’s been dancing ever since
around Moscow, Paris, Port-au-Prince;
the rich men’s villas and the beggars’ shanties…
And, by the way, she doesn’t wear panties.
* Brand of Scotch whisky.
** William Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Second Part, ACT V, SCENE I.
28.05.2019
Pick A Tile, Vol 5 - Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
A Macabre Dance
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