Bar Mate

At the "Head Inn' Bar, I sat with Death. Drinking the fog, With my poor-man's "Crown" Earlyer, In mood, I called him over, telling "It can wait, grab a drink". Quite in my superior, For just saving thousands. You see, Him and I have met. First a teenage drive, Acid with ambulance, Flip-rolling, tripping a bad action. But I saw him. Then at mid-life, Buhhda-r-us. Told to sit with him, He didn't say much. Death and I ordered again. I gave him grief, for ordering a Cran-metropoliton, He shrugged me off, sipping, Smiled his cared-for white mug. Genuine tho, no hidden intent. I could buzzed gather. We Chatted the gambit, Topics unbound, He listened as if I had something to say. It felt like a talk, with a laid back relative. Glad to see, but good for the go. Time whispered my leave. Plus my spirts were many. I slurred a passing joke-jab. "were is your cycle, black robe, Bone pointing finger " He pierced me with a gaze, like my dead father would, Gentaly patting my back, And by his smiling touch, I sware, I sobered up.