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