I died in my sleep last night, dreamt Death was escorting me to Nowhere, which isn’t a place so probably does not rate a capital letter. Death takes young things, takes the old every single day. Unlike God, doesn’t even take a day off. Busy no-body, sometimes rough debt collector. I wasn’t happy about dying but there’s no come- back when enforcer Death says, Come, so I didn’t make a fuss.
Much less trouble than birth. No discomfort, drafts, blinding lights, rough handling, unwelcome kisses, voices speaking in tongues. Death is dreamless sleep without discomfort or needing to piss.
Awakened by loudmouth alarm, I felt short-changed. Effort required to defeat ‘To Do’ list on the fridge. Grocery shopping, dental appointment. Death, laconic beast/new acquaintance, was yet to undertake its obligatory visit. Till then I have mundane things to do.
Allan Lake, originally from Saskatchewan, has lived in Vancouver, Cape Breton, Ibiza, Tasmania & Melbourne. Poetry collection: Sand in the Sole (Xlibris, 2014). Lake won Lost Tower Publications (UK) Comp 2017, Melbourne Spoken Word Poetry Fest 2018 and publication in NewPhilosopher 2020. Latest chapbook (Ginninderra Press 2020) My Photos of Sicily.