Lady Death

Why is Death
always portrayed
as a man:
cloaked in dark, heavy fabric,
probably with a hood,
or
wearing a long, black coat,
streaked with rain,
stepping out of a cab
on a dark city night
as if punctual for an appointment?

I see Death
as a beautiful
siren;
long, blonde hair,
(kissed with sunlight)
rosy cheeks,
full, red lips
slightly parted
as if tasting a slice
of ripe cantaloupe.

She sits in a cafe,
perhaps in Italy,
but more possibly in
Seattle or Maine,
waiting for a lover,

sipping a latte.